PS 

3501 

N57 

O9 

1913 

MAIN 


UC-NRLF 


Mfi    flbl 


)ur  Children 


LOUIS  K.  ANSPACHER 


UBRARYEOmO? 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  St.,  New  York 


OUR  CHILDREN 

A  COMEDY-DRAMA  IN  THREE  ACTS 


BY 
LOUIS  K.  ANSPACHER 

Author  of  "The   Unc hastened   Woman''  "Tristan  and 

Isolde"  "The  Glass  House,"  "The  Washerwoman 

Duchess"   "Daymar,"  and  other  plays 


COPYRIGHT,  1913   (UNDER  TITLE,  "His  SON"),  BY 
Louis    K.    ANSPACHER 


All    Rights    Reserved 

CAUTION:  Professionals  and  amateurs  are  hereby  warned  that 
"OUR  CHILDREN,"  being  fully  protected  under  the  copy 
right  laws  of  the  United  States  of  America,  the  British  Em 
pire,  including  the  Dominion  of  Canada,  and  the  other  coun 
tries  of  the  Copyright  Union,  is  subject  to  a  royalty,  and  any 
one  presenting  the  play  without  the  consent  of  the  author  or 
liis  authorized  agents  will  be  liable  to  the  penalties  by  law 
provided.  Applications  for  the  acting  rights  must  be  made  to 
Samuel  French,  at  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City,  or  at 
811  West  7th  Street,  Los  Angeles,  Calif. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  INC. 

25  WEST  45TH  STREET,  NEW  YORK,  N.  Y. 

811  WEST  TTH  STREET,  Los  ANGELES,  CALIF. 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  LTD. 
26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET,  STRAND,  W.C.2,  LONDON 


"OUR   CHILDREN" 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


Especial  notice  should  be  taken  that  the  possession  of  this 
book  without  a  valid  contract  for  production  first  having 
been  obtained  from  the  publisher  confers  no  right  or  license 
to  professionals  or  amateurs  to  produce  the  play  publicly  or 
in  private  for  gain  or  charity. 

In  its  present  form  this  play  is  dedicated  to  the  reading 
public  only,  and  no  performance,  representation,  production, 
recitation,  public  reading  or  radio  broadcasting  may  be  given 
except  by  special  arrangement  with  Samuel  French,  at  25 
West  45th  Street,  New  York  City,  or  at  811  West  7th  Street, 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. 

This  play  may  be  presented  by  amateurs  upon  payment  of 
a  royalty  of  Twenty-Five  Dollars  for  each  performance,  pay 
able  to  Samuel  French,  at  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York, 
or  at  811  West  7th  Street,  Los  Angeles,  Calif.,  one  week 
before  the  date  when  the  play  is  given. 

Whenever  the  play  is  produced  the  following  notice  must 
appear  on  all  programs,  printing  and  advertising  for  the 
play:  "Produced  by  special  arrangement  with  Samuel  French." 

Attention  is  called  to  the  penalty  provided  by  law  for  any 
infringement  of  the  author's  rights,  as  follows: 

"SECTION  4966 : — Any  person  publicly  performing  or  repre 
senting  any  dramatic  or  musical  composition  for  which  copy 
right  has  been  obtained,  without  the  consent  of  the  proprietor 
of  said  dramatic  or  musical  composition,  or  his  heirs  and 
assigns,  shall  be  liable  for  damages  thereof,  such  damages  in 
all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such  sum,  not  less  than  one  hun 
dred  dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars  for  every  subse 
quent  performance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear  to  be  just. 
If  the  unlawful  performance  and  representation^  wilful  and 
for  profit,  such  person  or  persons  shall  be  guilty  of  a  mis 
demeanor,  and  upon  conviction  shall  be  imprisoned  for  a 
period  not  exceeding  one  year." — U.  S.  Revised  Statutes: 
Title  60,  Chap.  3. 


C>*L 
1115 


Copy   of   program    of    the    original   production    of    "OUR 
CHILDREN"  at  the   Maxine  Elliot  Theatre,  New  Yor^k;  ,  . 

GEORGE  MOOSER 
(In  association  with  The  Marbury-Comstock  Company) 

Presents 

"OUR   CHILDREN" 

A    Comedy-Drama   in   Three   Acts 

By  LOUIS   K.   ANSPACHER 


CAST 

WILLIBALD  ENGEL  (WILLY) Emmett  Corrigan 

THEODORE,  his  son Ralph  Morgan 

HERTHA,  his  daughter Christine  Norman 

SOPHY,  the  maid Elizabeth  Aariens 

ANASTASIUS  SCHEIBLE  (STASI) Albert  Bruning 

ROSIE,  his  niece Amy  Dennis 

SPENCER  HUTTON,  a  banker Arthur  Lewis 

HARRIET,  his  daughter Alma  Tell 

VAUGHAN  LELAND,  a  broker  from  Boston 

— Gavin  Harris 
RICHARD  HELLMAN,  foreman  in  Engel's  factory 

— Alphonz  Ethier 
CARTER,  Engel's  confidential  man John  McKee 

SYNOPSIS  OF  SCENES 

ACT  I.    Dining  room  in  Willibald  Engel's  new  home. 

October. 

ACT  II.    The  same.    Two  years  later. 
ACT  III.    Combination  living  room  and  shoeshop  of 

Willibald.   Two  years  later. 
PLACE  :   City  of  Lynn,  Massachusetts. 


264 


DESCRIPTION  OF  CHARACTERS 

THEODORE:  Is  24,  with  the  naive  selfishness  of  vi 
tality. 

ROSIE:   Is  about  17. 

SOPHY  :  Is  a  middle-aged  woman. 

HERTHA  :  Is  a  young  woman  of  about  30. 

WILLY:  Is  a  vital,  robust  type  of  old-fashioned 
German.  He  is  about  55.  He  is  active,  aggres 
sive  and  irascible  in  manner,  obstinate  when  op 
posed,  but  at  heart  big  and  kindly.  He  is 
dressed  in  ordinary  clothes,  but  is  scrupulously 
neat.  He  zvears  an  old-fashionel  collar,  a  white 
linen  bow  tie.  He  is  in  shirt-sleeves,  which  are 
rolled  up. 

STASI  :  Is  approximately  WILLY'S  age.  He  is  a  dis 
tinctively  different  type  from  WILLY.  WILLY 
is  the  energetic,  active  type  of  German.  STASI 
is  slender,  reflective  and  scholarly  in  appearance 
and  manner.  He  wears  his  hair  slightly  long. 
His  English  is  quite  accurate,  though  his  in 
tonation  is  foreign. 

LELAND:  Is  a  man  of  the  world,  about  35  years, 
smooth  in  manner. 

CARTER  :  Is  a  man  of  45,  silent  in  manner. 

RICHARD  HELLMAN  :  Is  sturdy,  well-made  and  inde 
pendent. 

HARRIET  HUTTON  :  Is  a  self-contained  young  wom 
an  of  21.  She  is  beautifully  gowned. 

HUTTON  :    Is  the  complete  type  of  reserved  New 
England  gentleman. 
5 


OUR  CHILDREN 


ACT  ONE 

SCENE:  The  stage  presents  the  dining-room  in  the 
new  house  built  by  WILLIBALD  ENGEL.  It  is  the 
first  Sunday  that  the  family  has  spent  in  the 
new  place,  and  the  scene  must  give  the  impres 
sion  of  unscratched  newness.  The  rear  wall  has 
two  large  arches  in  it,  the  one  R.C.  leads  to  stairs 
which  are  visible.  The  arch  on  L.C.  leads  to  the 
hall  and  front  door  of  the  house.  This  arch  has 
double  doors,  both  of  which  are  open  in  Act  I. 
Between  the  two  arches  is  the  large  sideboard. 
Down  R.  is  swinging  door  which  leads  to  the  but 
ler's  pantry.  Down  L.  are  French  windows,  open 
ing  on  the  veranda.  Trees  with  autumn  foliage 
are  seen  beyond.  At  c.  of  room  is  a  large,  highly 
polished  table,  above  which  is  Tiffany  glass  chan 
delier  with  an  illuminating  bowl.  The  table  has 
finger  bozvls,  glasses  and  after  dinner  coffee  cups 
upon  it.  Also  a  bowl  of  fruit  and  an  ashtray.  At 
wall  R.  is  a  serving  table  with  a  humidor  and 
percolator  upon  it.  Up  L.  is  a  desk  with  a  tele 
phone  upon  it.  There  are  three  chairs  at  table, 
a  chair  down  L.  and  a  chair  down  R.  There  is 
a  small  lamp  on  the  desk  up  L.  and  wall  brackets 
on  either  side  of  the  sideboard  rear  and  over 
the  stairs.  The  chairs  ought  to  be  high-backed 
and  straight.  It  is  about  three  P.  M. 
7 


8  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

ENTER:  THEODORE  R.C.,  bringing  on  ROSIE  from 
stairs.  THEODORE  is  smoking  a  cigarette.  He  is 
twenty-four,  with  the  naive  selfishness  of  vital 
ity.  ROSIE  is  about  seventeen. 

THEODORE.  Well,  Rosie,  what  do  you  think  of  it? 
Some  house,  eh? 

ROSIE.  (Enthusiastically)  Oh,  the  house  is  beau 
tiful,  Theodore.  Where's  everybody? 

THEODORE.    Everybody's  busy. 

ROSIE.  I'll  come  back  tomorrow  and  help  Hertha 
straighten  out  the  rooms  upstairs.  (Moves  to  L.) 

THEODORE.    (Following  her)    What's  the  hurry? 

ROSIE.  I  just  ran  over  to  see  if  I  could  help  in 
anything. 

THEODORE.  Now,  now,  you  just  sit  down.  (Puts 
her  in  a  chair  L.  of  table)  I  want  to  talk  to  you — 
just  you,  alone.  (Sits  on  table  c.)  I  haven't  told 
you  the  most  important  thing  of  all. 

ROSIE.    (Eagerly)    No?   What  is  it? 

THEODORE.  (Flicking  ashes  from  cigarette) 
Rosie 

ROSIE.  Oh,  don't  throw  your  ashes  on  the  floor. 
Here.  (Gives  him  a  tray  from  table  c.) 

THEODORE.   Thanks. 

ROSIE.  Well? 

THEODORE.  (Importantly)  Rosie,  it's  finally  set 
tled.  Dad's  bought  me  a  partnership.  I'm  going  into 
the  brokerage  business  with  Mr.  Vaughn  Leland. 

ROSIE.  Isn't  that  splendid!  But (Her  face 

suddenly  falls.) 

THEODORE.   What's  the  matter? 

ROSIE.    You're  going  to  leave  Lynn? 

THEODORE.  Oh,  no.  Leland's  going  to  run  the 
Boston  office.  I'm  going  to  run  the  branch  right 
here. 

ROSIE.   (Relieved)  Oh,  then — you  see  it  would  be 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  9 

terrible  for  us — I  mean  your  father  would  miss  you 
so  terribly,  if  you  went  away. 

THEODORE.   Only  Father? 

ROSIE.  Oh,  and  Hertha,  and  all  of  us,  I  guess. 
Does  Uncle  Stasi  know? 

THEODORE.  Not  yet.  You're  the  first  one  I've  told 
about  it,  Rosie.  I'm  going  to  make  a  success ! 

ROSIE.  (Admiringly)  Oh,  yes,  you  will,  Theo 
dore. 

THEODORE.  (Swaggering)  And  when  I  get  the 
business  going  and  am  idependent,  Rosie,  I'll  have 
something  to  say  to  you.  (  ROSIE  looks  down,  con 
fused  and  bashful.  THEODORE  comes  close  to  her) 
Rosie,  do  you  think  your  Uncle  Stasi  would  miss 
you  as  much  as  you  think  my  dad  would  miss  me? 

ROSIE.  I  don't  know,  Theodore.  (Rising)  Oh, 
but  Uncle  Stasi  may  be  missing  me  now. 

THEODORE.  (Holding  her)  Well,  from  now  on, 
he  might  as  well  get  used  to  it.  Because,  in  a  little 
while,  you  know,  somebody's  going  to  come  and 
take  you  away  from  him  entirely,  and  keep  you  all 
for  himself.  Now — ah — can  you  guess  who  it  is? 

ROSIE.  (Laughing  happily)  I  couldn't  possibly! 
(BOTH  laugh.) 

THEODORE.  Say,  how'd  you  like  to  go  for  a  spin  ? 
Just  we  two  alone,  eh? 

ROSIE.  Oh,  Theodore,  I'd  love  it.  Only  I  couldn't 
go  without  telling  Uncle  Stasi.  ^ 

THEODORE.  All  right.  I'll  just  get  things  ready 
and  bring  the  car  'round  for  you  in  half  an  hour. 
Don't  be  late. 

ROSIE.  (Going  to  French  window)  I'll  be  waiting. 
And  I'll  have  a  surprise  for  you. 

THEODORE.  What? 

ROSIE.  (Happily,  secretive)  Just  think  of  some 
thing  blue. 

THEODORE.  I  will.  (RosiE  exits  through  the  French 
windows.  SOPHY  enters  from  down  R.  She  is  a 


io  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

middle-aged  woman.  She  carries  a  tray  and  goes 
immediately  to  the  table  c.  and  begins  to  gather  up 
the  dishes.  The  PHONE  bell  rings.) 

SOPHY.  (Confused  at  the  bell)  Schon  wieder  a 
mal  a  bell ! 

THEODORE.  I'll  answer  it.  ( SOPHY  busies  herself 
at  table.  THEODORE  goes  to  phone  on  desk  up  L.) 
Hello — Hello.  Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Engel's  home — who 
is  it?  Oh,  this  you,  Mr.  Leland? — Why,  I  thought 
you  were  in  Boston.  Yes,  where  are  you? — Oh, 
then,  I'll  come  right  down. — Not  more  than  ten  min 
utes — sure — goodbye.  (In  boyish  excitement  he  goes 
to  hall  L.C.  and  gets  his  motor  coat,  etc.  Another 
BELL  RINGS.  HERTHA  enters  R.  from  pantry. 
HERTHA  is  a  young  woman  of  about  thirty. J 

SOPHY.  (To  HERTHA,)  Wat  fer  a  bell  ish  dat 
now? 

HERTHA.  (Stopping  SOPHY,  who  starts  R.J  Sophy, 
nobody's  there.  (  SOPHY  shrugs  her  shoulders  and 
goes  to  table  again.) 

THEODORE.  (Entering  from  L.C.  in  motor  coat) 
Oh,  Hertha,  tell  Dad,  Mr.  Leland  is  in  town  again. 
I'll  motor  down  to  see  him  at  the  hotel.  (BELL 
rings  again.) 

HERTHA.  Papa's  at  the  front  door.  (She  takes 
fruit  bowl  from  table  c.  and  puts  it  on  serving  ta 
ble.) 

THEODORE.  Oh,  then  I'll  tell  him  myself.  Tata. 
(Exits  L.C.  BELL  rings  again.) 

SOPHY.    (Nervously^    Nix  wie  bells! 

HERTHA.    Papa's  fixing  them. 

SOPHY.  Yah,  fixing!  I  wish  he'd  go  way  mit  his 
fixing  und  leave  us  alone  'til  we  get  seddled !  I 
wish  it  was  neffer  Sunday  mit  a  man  around  de 
house  fixing,  wen  we  got  work  to  do !  'Til  your  fader 
gets  trou'  mit  his  fixing,  I  get  fixed  in  a  loonatick 
asylum!  (She  moves  the  tray  across  the  table.  Her 
jaw  falls  as  she  discovers  a  scratch.  She  exclaims 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  n 

"Ach  du  lieber  Gott!"  Looks  about  fearfully;  mois 
tens  her  finger ;  tries  to  conceal  the  damage.  At  this 
point  an  ELECTRIC  BELL  is  heard  ringing  off  R., 
intermittently.) 

HERTHA.  (During  above,  has  gone  to  French  win 
dows;  calls  out)  Papa !  It  rings  all  right  now.  (The 
bell  stops.  SOPHY  starts  rubbing  at  the  table.  HER 
THA  sees  her)  Sophy,  what's  the  matter? 

SOPHY.  (Exculpating  herself)  You  can't  help 
dem  scratches  w'en  we  don'd  use  no  tablecloths. 

HERTHA.  Get  the  furniture  polish  quickly. 

SOPHY.  (Going  Rj  Yah,  in  a  minute  he  hollers 
again  about  de  scratches. 

HERTHA.  Hurry,  Sophy. 

SOPHY.  (Balking  at  the  swinging  door  to  the  pan 
try)  Und  dis  door — dat  gits  me  crazy,  too.  Dot's 
got  no  kinob ! 

HERTHA.  Just  push  it. 

SOPHY.  I  know- — I  know — I  push  it  w'en  I  dink 
about  it,  but  I  can't  always  dink  about  it.  (Exits  Rj 

WILLY.   (Calling  from  off  rear  L.C. )   Hertha ! 

HERTHA.  (Clearing  the  table  of  doilies,  which 
she  puts  in  a  sideboard  drawer)  Yes,  Papa. 

WILLY.  Does  it  say  de  front  door  on  de  indicator? 

HERTHA.    (Patiently)   Yes,  Papa. 

WILLY.   How  do  you  know? 

HERTHA.   I  saw  it  in  the  pantry. 

WILLY.  All  right.  (  SOPHY  enters  R.  hastily  with 
the  furniture  polish  and  a  rag.  She  just  avoids  the 
door  that  swings  quickly  behind  her.) 

SOPHY.  Here  it  is.  (  SOPHY  and  HERTHA  polish 
the  scratch.) 

WILLY.  (Calling  again  from  off  rear  L.c.J  Hertha ! 
Hertha!  (WiLLY  enters,  carrying  hammer,  screw 
driver,  etc.  WILLY  is  a  vital,  robust  type  of  old- 
fashioned  German.  He  is  about  fifty-five.  He  is  ac 
tive,  aggressive  and  irascible  in  manner,  obstinate 
when  opposed,  but  at  heart  big  and  kindly.  He  is 


12  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

dressed  in  ordinary  clothes,  but  is  scrupulously  neat. 
He  wears  an  old-fashioned  collar,  a  white  linen  bow 
tie.  He  is  in  shirt-sleeves,  which  are  rolled  up) 
Hertha,  Sophy  must  shine  up  dat  doorplate,  und  de 
kinocker,  too ! 

HERTHA.   Yes,  Papa. 

WILLY.  (Coming  down  R.cJ  You  hear  me, 
Sophy  ? 

SOPHY.  I  got  two  ears.  I  heard  you  mit  both  of 
dem. 

WILLY.  (Betraying  his  irritation  at  SOPHY)  I 
hat  a  donkey  once  dat  hat  two  ears — und  long  ones, 
too! 

SOPHY.  (R.  of  table)  W'at  for  we  got  a  kinocker 
w'en  we  got  a  bell  ? 

WILLY.  (Bursting)  I  don't  know  what  for  we 
got  a  kinocker !  But  we  got  it,  und  you  got  to  shine 
him  up!  We  must  be  shiny  on  de  outside,  like  de 
inside.  ( SOPHY  grumbles.) 

HERTHA.   I'll  tend  to  it. 

WILLY.  (Pleased  and  proud)  All  de  bells  ring 
fine  now,  hah?  I  fixed  dem,  ha?  Anything  else  in 
de  house  to  fix?  You  better  tell  me,  while  I  got  yet 
time. 

HERTHA.  We'll  tell  you.  (Takes  things  off  table. 
WILLY  goes  up  to  the  wall  rear  and  turns  on  electric 
switch,  which  LIGHTS  the  lights  in  chandelier  and 
on  the  walls  and  also  in  the  hall.  As  the  lights  go  on 
above  the  table,  SOPHY  cozfers  the  scratch  with  her 
apron.) 

WILLY.  (Proudly)  Now,  mit  one  button  we  light 
all  de  lights.  'Swonderful!  (Seeing  SOPHY'S  guilty 
expression)  More  scratches  on  dat  table !  (Coming 
down)  Sophy ! !  (He  puts  down  both  hands  full  of 
tools  on  the  table  in  his  consternation.) 

SOPHY.  Jusht  look  now  w'at  you  do  yourself  mit 
scratches ! 

WILLY.    (Quickly  removing  the  tools)    Shtill ! 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  13 

SOPHY.   When  you  don'd  use  no  tablecloths 

WILLY.  Don't  arg  mit  me!  W'en  my  Theodore 
says  we  don'd  use  no  tablecloths,  dot  seddles  it. 
(HERTHA  turns  off  LIGHTS  at  switch  in  wall  rear. 
SOPHY  has  picked  up  her  tray  of  dishes  and  has 
gone  to  R.  door.) 

SOPHY.  (Sneeringly,  as  she  crosses  to  pantry) 
Yah !  Dat  seddles  it !  Dat  seddles  it !  (Ad  lib.) 

WILLY.  Yah,  shure,  dat  seddles  it!  ( SOPHY  has 
lifted  her  foot  to  push  open  R.  door.  WILLY  exclaims 
excitedly)  Sophy!!  (She  turns.)  Why  don'd  you 
hook  back  dot  door  wen  you  go  to  de  butler's  pan 
try? 

SOPHY.  (Turning,  argumentatively)  I  wash  my 
dishes  in  de  kitchen. 

WILLY.  (Dictatorially)  You  wash  'em  in  de  but 
ler's  pantry,  like  Theodore  told  you.  (HERTHA  holds 
back  the  door.) 

SOPHY.  (Angrily)  We  ain't  got  no  butteler  yet  in 
de  pantry,  und  de  water's  dirty. 

HERTHA.    (To  SOPHYJ   Psch! 

WILLY.  (Angrily)  Den  turn  him  on  full,  and  let 
him  run  'til  he  gits  clean!  De  pipes  is  new!  Go 
ahead!  ( SOPHY  exits  R.J  Gott,  dat  Sophy!  Phew! 
She  was  goot  to  your  modder  so  long  your  modder 
was  alive;  but,  for  twenty-five  years  now,  she's  a 
pest.  (Sits  L.  of  table,  tools  in  his  hands.) 

HERTHA.  She'll  be  all  right,  Papa,  when  we  get 
settled. 

WILLY.  (Rising  and  going  to  another  chair  down 
L.)  We  move  on  Wednesday;  now,  it's  Sunday. 
Fer  a  whole  week  I  live  like  a  bum  hotel. 

HERTHA.  (Putting  bowl  of  flowers  from  side 
board  on  table  c.)  Everything's  new  to  her. 

WILLY.  (Beaming)  Everyding  new — ha !  (Grim 
ly)  Now  comes  de  bills.  (Rising)  Ach,  Hertha,  I 
can'd  git  comfortable  in  dese  fancy  chairs !  Where's 
my  old  big  chair  ? 


I4  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

HERTHA.    Theodore  had  it  put  up  in  your  room. 

WILLY.  Yah,  so.  Dat's  too  old-fashioned  fer  down 
here.  (Re-enter  SOPHY.  Business  as  she  escapes 
the  lively  swinging -do  or.)  Well?  You  always  come 
mit  such  a  funeral  face ? 

SOPHY.  (Viciously)  Now  dat  water  won't  schtop 
running  in  de  butteler's  pantry ! 

WILLY.  (Bursting)  You  turn  him  on  too  far! 
(BELL  rings.  Crosses  R.  to  SOPHY)  Dot's  Uncle 
Stasi,  Hertha.  (HERTHA  exits  L.C.  WILLY  continues 
to  SOPHY)  Now  come,  Sophy,  I  show  you.  (WILLY 
makes  a  pass  for  the  knob  on  the  pantry  door.) 

SOPHY.  (Maliciously^  Now,  you  see  yourself 
dot  door,  dot's  got  no  kinob ! 

WILLY.  (Dictatorially)  Shtill!  Go  ahead! 
(  SOPHY  passes  him.)  You  git  so  excited,  you  don't 
know  what  you  do  no  more. 

SOPHY.  (Turning  on  him)  Ich  versteh  das  ganze 
ding  nicht  I  Mir  ist  alles  so  neu ! 

WILLY.  Mach  mir  keine  dummheiten  vor,  ich 
will's  gar  nicht  haben. 

SOPHY.  You  can't  help  dem  scratches,  w'en  you 
don'd  use  no  tablecloth. 

WILLY.  Firscht,  you  git  trouble  mit  de  icebox. 
Den  you  make  scratches  on  de  furniture  like  a  wild 
cat.  (Pushes  her  through  R.  door)  Und  now,  de 
water.  (He  turns  to  look  for  STASI.  The  door  swings 
back  and  strikes  him.  He  thinks  it  SOPHY)  Say,  are 
you  coming  out  or  going  in? 

SOPHY.  (Putting  her  head  through)  I  didn't  do 
it! 

WILLY.  (Pulling  R.  door  open  on  stage)  Geh 
doch  weg ! 

SOPHY.  Dot's  not  my  fault ! 

WILLY.  Halt's  maul!  (BOTH  exit  R.  At  this 
point  ANASTASIUS  SCHEIBLE  enters  from  L.C.,  fol 
lowed  by  HERTHA.  STASI  is  approximately  WILLY'S 
age.  He  is  a  distinctively  different  type  from  WILLY. 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  15 

WILLY  is  the  energetic,  active  type  of  German. 
STASI  is  slender,  reflective  and  scholarly  in  appear 
ance  and  manner.  He  wears  his  hair  slightly  long. 
He  carries  a  bundle  of  newspapers  which  he  puts 
dozvn  on  a  chair  near  the  door.  His  English  is  quite 
accurate,  though  his  intonation  is  foreign.) 

HERTHA.    Rosie  was  here  a  little  while  ago. 

STASI.  (Entering)  Yah,  she  came  home.  Theo 
dore  takes  her  for  a  ride  in  the  automobile.  She 
puts  on  her  new  blue  dress.  (Takes  off  his  hat  and 
gives  it  to  HERTHA.,) 

HERTHA.   The  dust  will  ruin  it. 

STASI.  (Smiling)  When  Theodore  comes,  she 
always  wears  her  prettiest  clothes.  (Enter  WILLY  R. 
HERTHA  exits  L.C.  STASI  comes  down.  They  meet 
in  front  of  table  c.)  Griiss  dich  Gott,  Willy !  (Shakes 
hands  enthusiastically.) 

WILLY.    Willkommen — willkommen,  Stasi! 

STASI.  (Looking  around  the  room)  Well — well — 
well 

WILLY.    (Proudly)   Ha,  Stasi? 

STASI.  Your  old  friends  will  feel  like  coming  in 
the  back  door. 

WILLY.  (Promptly)  De  back  door  jusht's  as  fine ! 
Come,  I  show  you.  (They  move  R.,  but  WILLY  sud 
denly  turns)  But  wait,  Stasi.  Now  wait,  I  want  to 

show  you (He  goes  up  to  electric  switch  on  wall 

rear)  Now  watch  it !  Watch  it !  (He  turns  on  elec 
tric  LIGHTS.  STASI  starts  in  wonder  and  makes  an 
exclamation  of  pleased  surprise.)  Schwell,  ha!? 
'Swonderful !  (Turns  off  LIGHTS.) 

STASI.   Switch  'em  on  again ! 

WILLY.    (Doing  so)    Shure !   Shure ! 

STASI.  It's  grand.  (Then  ivith  slow  appraisal) 
That's  an  elegant  house,  Willy! 

WILLY.  (Turning  off  LIGHTS)  I  show  you  over 
it  afterwards.  (To  HERTHA,  who  re-enters  L.cJ 
Hertha,  I  forgit  my  schmoking  tabac.  (HERTHA  ex- 


16  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

its  upstairs.  WILLY  points  to  sideboard)  Stasi,  open 
dere  in  de  second  drawer.  I  put  your  pipe  dere,  too. 
(In  going  for  the  pipes  STASI  sees  some  copies  of 
the  American  Kennel  Magazine  lying  on  top  of  the 
sideboard.) 

STASI.  So.  And  you  read  now  about  dog  kennels. 
I  wonder  why  you  make  me  send  to  Boston  for  these 
magazines.  (He  brings  down  two  pipes.  STASI  comes 
L.  of  table.  WILLY  is  at  Rj 

WILLY.  (Expansively)  We  build  now  kennels, 
too.  (STASI  gives  WILLY  a  pipe.) 

STASI.   What  for? 

WILLY.  (To  HERTHA,  who  re-enters  R.C.  with  the 
tobacco- jar)  Hertha !  W'at  kind  f  er  a  dogs  does  the 
Theodore  make  in  de  kennels? 

HERTHA.   He's  going  to  breed  collies. 

WILLY.  (To  STASI,  as  he  takes  tobacco-jar)  Yah, 
collies!  'Swonderful!  ..  Hertha,  matches!  (She 
brings  down  a  brass  smoking  outfit  from  sideboard. 
WILLY  turns  with  jar  to  STASIJ  Oh,  say,  Stasi,  I 
t'ank  you  fer  de  fine  tobacco-jar. 

STASI.  Then  you  think  of  me  whenever  you  take 
a  smoke. 

WILLY.  Yah,  yah.  (Reading  the  inscription  on  it) 
Here  stands  it :  "Von  your  old  friend  of  fifdy  years." 
I  tank  you  very  much.  (Opening  it)  But  fill  up, 
Stasi. 

STASI.  (Nettled,  as  he  finds  a  potato  in  the  jar) 
But,  W7illy,  I  told  you,  you  don't  need  a  potato  in  it. 
That's  got  a  sponch  on  top,  in  here.  (Showing  it) 
You  put  water  there.  That  keeps  it  moist. 

WILLY.   I  don't  like  water  in  my  tobac. 

STASI.  Und  I  don't  like  potatoes  in  mine.  (He 
takes  out  the  potato.) 

WILLY.  (Putting  it  back  into  jar)  I  do  it  my 
way! 

STASI.    (Good-humoredly)    All  right. 

WILLY.      All    right.      (WILLY   and    STASI    each 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  17 

have  a  different  characteristic  gesture  as  they  say 
"All  right."  These  gestures  are  repeated  throughout 
the  play.) 

STASI.  (Filling  his  pipe)  Say,  Willy,  where  will 
you  build  those  kennels?  (Pushes  jar  over  to 
WILLY.; 

WILLY.  (Filling  his  pipe)  Sit  down,  Stasi.  You 
know  dat  proberdy  next  door? 

STASI.  (Nodding)  Where  Richard  Hellman  lives  ? 
(HERTHA  goes  up  to  French  window  and  sews  dur 
ing  the  following  scene.) 

WILLY.  Yah.  (Lights  pipe  and  sits  R.  of  table) 
I  hold  a  mortgage  on  dot  proberdy  fer  fifteen  years 
now.  I  let  Richard  live  dere  all  dis  time  fer  three 
protscent. 

STASI.   I  know. 

WILLY.  (Secretively)  But  I  don't  renew  dot  mort 
gage  any  more. 

STASI.  Why  not? 

WILLY.   My  Theodore  wants  it  fer  his  dogs. 

STASI.   Nu!   Willy!    (Rises.) 

WILLY.    Ain't  dot  chair  comfortable? 

STASI.  I  don't  speak  about  the  chairs !  (He  turns; 

then  comes  to  WILLYJ  Listen,  Willy (He 

catches  WILLY'S  obstinate  eye)  Och,  what's  the  use 
I  talk? 

WILLY.  Oud  mit  it!  I  know  I  git  no  peace  'til 
you 

STASI.  You  mustn't  take  that  place  from  Richard. 

WILLY.  I  mustn't?  Jusht  so  soon  anybody  tells 
me  I  mushn't,  dot's  egsactly  w'at  I  want  to  do. 

STASI.    Willy,  you're  crazy! 

WILLY.   All  right. 

STASI.  (Vehemently)  All  right!  (He  scratches 
a  match  under  the  table.  WILLY  jumps  up  and  dur 
ing  STASI'S  ensuing  speech,  he  examines  the  table 
to  see  if  STASI  has  scratched  it.  Lighting  his  pipe) 
Now,  listen,  Willy.  Everybody  in  this  town,  they 


l8  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

used  to  say  what  a  fine  man  Old  Engel  is.  People 
were  proud  of  what  you  made  yourself.  But,  since 
Theodore  comes  home  from  college  with  his  new 
ideas,  your  friends  don't  know  you  any  more. 

WILLY.    (Defensively)    Wat  comes  now? 

STASI.  Richard  Hellman's  father  worked  with  you 
on  the  bench  and 

WILLY.  (Interrupting)  Well,  I'm  proud  of  dat. 
Ernsht  was  a  goot  workman. 

STASI.  But  look  now  what  Theodore  makes  you 
do  to  Ernst  Hellman's  son. 

WILLY.  (With  justification)  Now,  listen,  Stasi. 
I  done  everyding  I  can  for  Richard.  I  take  him 
in  de  factory.  I  made  him  foreman  of  de  men. 
Ernsht  himself  couldn't  do  more.  Und  Richard  is 
now  old  enough  to  look  out  for  himself. 

STASI.  What  does  Richard  say? 

WILLY.  De  mortgage  was  due  yesterday.  Tomor 
row,  I  tell  Richard  dot  I  don'd  renew.  So  don'd  say 
nodding.  (He  looks  quickly  at  HERTHA,  who  seems 
not  to  have  heard.) 

STASI.  You  know  me,  Willy.  What  I  got  to  say, 
I  say  to  you. 

WILLY.  Yah,  und  w'en  you  git  trou,  dere's  nod 
ding  left  to  say  behint  my  back ! 

STASI.    (Proudly)    Yah. 

WILLY.  (Continuing)  Und  I  do  w'at  I  want  jusht 
de  same. 

STASI.  (Nettled)  No,  not  what  you  want.  You 
always  do  what  Theodore  wants. 

WILLY.   All  right! 

STASI.  All  right !  (Slight  pause,  during  which 
STASI  strikes  another  match  under  the  table.) 

WILLY.  (Jumping  up)  Look  oud,  Stasi!  Dot's 
de  second  time  you  make  me  scratches  on  dot  table ! 

STASI.  (With  exculpation)  Excuse  me.  I  scratched 
it  underneath. 

WILLY.   (Pointing  explicitly  to  the  brass  smoking 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  19 

outfit)  Here !  Here's  de  place  to  scratch  de  matches. 
Dot's  special  made  fer  dat. 

STASI.  (Deliberately  pointing)  I  scratch  'em 
there  when  you  put  water  in  the  tobacco-jar.  That's 
made  special,  too.  (He  scratches  the  match  on 
trousers.) 

WILLY.   All  right ! 

STASI.  All  right! 

WILLY.   You  vant  always  de  lasht  word. 

STASI.    (Bridling)    Me? 

WILLY.    Yah — you ! 

STASI.  Willy,  if  you  was  dead  und  in  your  coffin, 
you'd  sit  up  and  sass  de  undertaker. 

WILLY.  Yah,  shure,  I  would.  (Feelingly)  Und 
Stasi,  I  hope  you're  dere  to  hear  me  do  it.  (They 
BOTH  laugh  good-humouredly  again  and  smoke. 
Pause.) 

STASI.  Say,  Willy 

WILLY.   Hah? 

STASI.  Richard  tells  me  he  makes  a  new  invention 
for  the  factory. 

WILLY.    (Surprised)   He  told  you? 

STASI.  Yah.  Is  it  a  good  thing? 

WILLY.  Yah,  shure,  it's  goot.  Dot's  de  trouble 
mit  it.  I  got  to  take  it,  so  de  odder  shoe  manufac 
turers  don'd  git  it.  I  git  'em  all.  Dot  Richard  coshts 
me  a  pile. 

STASI.   Why  don't  you  buy  that  patent  now? 

WILLY.  Shafskopf !  If  Richard  gits  a  liddle  mon 
ey  now,  he  tries  to  buy  dot  proberty,  und  my  Theo 
dore  don'd  git  it. 

STASI.  (Rising)  Well,  I  don't  say  anything,  any 
more.  But  you  know  what  I  think. 

WILLY.  Shure,  I  know,  und  I  don'd  care  w'at  you 
dink. 

STASI.  You  never  did,  so  what's  the  use  I  talk  ? 

WILLY.  It's  no  use. 

STASI.  All  right !   (Sits  again.) 


20  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

WILLY.  All  right!  You  bring  up  your  Rosie  de 
way  you  like.  I  bring  up  my  Theodore  de  way  / 
like. 

STASI.    (With  conviction}   My  Rosie  works. 

WILLY.  (Impatiently  rising)  Ach,  Stasi,  you  al 
ways  got  dat  poorhouse  fever.  Und  how  far  did  you 
bring  it?  We  came  over  on  de  same  ship  forty-five 
years  ago.  Today,  I'm  rich.  Und  you 

STASI.  (Interrupting)  I'm  satisfied !  I  got  enough 
to  spoil  my  Rosie,  too,  but  I  don't  believe  in  it. 

WILLY.  You  dink  because  we  was  born  in  a 
shanty  on  de  odder  side,  our  children  must  live  jusht 
de  same  as  us  ? 

STASI.    (Aggressively)   I  don't  live  in  a  shanty. 

WILLY.  Och.  No,  no,  no.  My  fader  gave  me 
nodding.  He  teached  me  de  trade  on  de  bench.  But 
my  Theodore  is  different.  (Proudly)  He  went  to 
collitch.  He's  a  chentleman.  I  gif  my  Theodore  ef- 
feryding  my  father  couldn't  give  me.  My  boy  reads 
books — drives  in  a  automobile  und 

STASI.    Und  spends  your  money  like  the  wind. 

WILLY.  Why  not?  W'at  for  I  got  it?  He  shall 
schpend  while  I'm  alive,  den  I  have  some  of  de  fun 
along  mit  him. 

STASI.  A  young  man  should  work.  He  should 
make  money. 

WILLY.  7  make  de  money.  Und,  besides,  he's  go 
ing  to  work:  (Sits  R.  of  table.) 

STASI.    (Ironically)    You  don't  say  so.   At  what? 

WILLY.  (Trying  to  conceal  his  pride)  I  jusht  buy 
him  dat  partnership  in  de  brokerage  business. 

STASI.  (Arguing  again)  Brokerage?  I  told  you, 
Willy.  That's  no  work.  That's  a  graft.  That's  gam' 
bling. 

WILLY.  That's  a  fine  business — a  chentleman's 
business ! 

STASI.   Ach! 

WILLY.   Maybe  you  dink  my  Theodore  should  be 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  21 

a  liddle  prinder  like  you,  or  a  shoemaker  like  me. 
Oh,  no ! 

STASI.  Well,  you  know  I  won't  talk  about  it  any 
more.  I'm  proud  of  what  my  Rosie  saves  for  me. 
You're  proud  of  what  your  Theodore  spends  for 
you. 

WILLY.   Now,  you  begin  again,  hah ! 

STASI.    (Rising  violently)    I'm  through! 

WILLY.  All  right ! 

STASI.  All  right !  (He  crosses  to  chair  at  L.  and 
brings  down  the  newspaper.  Sulkily)  Here's  the 
New  York  papers.  (WILLY  divides  the  newspapers. 
They  both  glance  at  them  during  the  following  dia 
logue)  Richard  tells  me  they  make  him  a  Labor 
leader  here  in  Lynn. 

WILLY.  (Looking  up  from  paper)  You  know  dot 
Richard  always  was  a  little  anarchist,  mit  his  new 
ideas  aboud  de  unions  and  machines. 

STASI.  Willy,  the  next  generation  always  has  to 
be  a  little  anarchist;  else  the  world  would  stand 
still.  (Gesture  from  WILLY.,)  And  if  the  unions  be 
gin  again  with  the  strikes 

WILLY.  (Confidently)  I  know  my  men.  Dey  all 
know  me. 

STASI.  That  ain't  the  question.  The  working  man 
has  rights. 

WILLY.  (While  scanning  the  paper)  Yah,  shure 
he  has.  I  was  one  myself,  and  I  look  out  fer  dem. 
Wen  I  got  goot  times  I  pay  dem  double  wages  for 
longer  hours,  so  when  de  bat  times  comes,  dey  got 
someding  on  de  bank.  I  nefrer  laid  dem  off.  My  men 
neffer  yet  went  oud  on  shtrike,  und  neffer  will.  Dey 
know  I  take  better  care  of  them  den  all  de  laws. 

STASI.  We  don't  speak  of  you,  Willy.  The  law  is 
made  for  the  bad  employer. 

WILLY.  Yah,  und  fer  effery  new  law  dot's  made, 
de  bat  employer  gits  a  dozen  lawyers  to  git  him  oud 
of  it.  You  can'd  put  a  goot  heart  in  a  boss  mit  laws. 


22  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  I 

Und  you  can'd  make  goot  workmen  mit  trade  unions. 

STASI.  Yah,  Willy,  if  you  got  money,  you're  a 
capitalist. 

WILLY.  Und,  if  you  got  nix,  you're  a  Anarchist 
or  a  Socialist,  like  you  or  Richard.  Dot's  it. 

STASI.  If  you  got  none,  you're  a  workman,  and 
there  you  stay. 

WILLY.  (Closing  off  discussion  as  he  turns  over 
paper)  Plendy  of  room  on  de  top  fer  de  bright 
younk  fellers. 

STASI.  I  don't  see  that  you  gave  Richard  a  chance. 

WILLY.  (Violently  rising)  Richard !  Richard ! 
Nix  wie  Richard !  You  got  easy  talkink.  I  could  go 
broke  effery  year  mit  putting  in  anodder  patent. 
Hah?  Und  who  gave  me  a  chance?  I  didn't  have 
a  tscent.  I  worked,  night  und  day. 

STASI.    You  had  good  luck,  Willy. 

WILLY.  (Standing  R.  of  table.  With  a  change) 
Yah,  Stasi,  goot  luck  I  hat  w'en  it's  too  late  fer  my 
wife  to  enchoy  it.  But  efferyding  I  couldn't  gif  to 
my  Matilda,  I  gif  to  my  Theodore.  Und  de  resht, 
de  odders,  dey  should  do  what  I  done.  Nobody 
helped  me. 

STASI.  Things  were  different  when  you  begun, 
Willy.  You  couldn't  do  that  same  today  again. 

WILLY.  I  don'd  have  to  do  the  same  today  again, 
dank  Gott!  I  pay  de  biggest  wages  here  in  Lynn. 
Und  w'en  dey  dink  it  ain'd  enough,  dey  kin  git  oud. 
Quick!  Marsch! 

STASI.  Willy,  Willy !  You  don'd  know  what  goes 
on  in  de  world. 

W7iLLY.   I  know  my  business. 

STASI.  (Conciliatorily)  Yah,  I  think  you  know 
your  business.  You  don'd  think  I  know  mine.  But, 
maybe,  in  the  end  we  are  both  mistaken,  ha  ? 

WILLY.  Now  you  begin  again  mit  your  nashty, 
sarkestick  remarks ! 

STASI.   (Rising  angrily)   Och,  I  lose  patience  with 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  23 

you !  A  old  fossil,  that's  what  you  are !    (He  swings 

Up  L.) 

WILLY.    (Coming  c.)   A  w'at ! ! 

STASI.    (Turning)    A  fossil!   A  fossil! 

WILLY.   Wat's  dat,  a  f ussel !  ? 

STASI.  (Exasperated,  comes  to  WILLY  at  c.)  A 
fossil  is  a  animal  that  died  a  million  years  ago ! 

WILLY.  Den  I  shoult  worry  aboud  it — leaf  me 
alone ! 

STASI.    (Violently)   All  right ! 

WILLY.  (Likewise)  All  right !  (After  this  erup 
tion  STASI  comes  back  to  his  chair  L.  of  table, 
switches  it  around  and  smokes  sulkily.  After  a 
pause)  Hertha,  you  fix  de  card  table  upshtairs? 

HERTHA.   Yes,  Papa. 

WILLY.  Your  Uncle  Stasi  gits  again  in  goot 
humor  all  de  week,  if  I  let  him  beat  me  pinochle  on 
Sunday.  (Coaxingly  to  STASI^  Come,  du  alter  ben- 
gel.  (Nudges  STASI.,) 

STASI.  Yah,  today  I  beat  you.  (He  follows  WILLY 
to  arch  R.c.J 

WILLY.  Yah,  maybe.  If  you  git  a  hundret-fifdy 
trumps,  mit  a  tousand  aces ! 

STASI.    I  teach  you  auction  pinochle  today. 

WILLY.  You  will  not.  EfTery  time  I  lick  you  at 
de  old  game  you  come  arount  mit  someding  new. 
(They  go  up  a  little.  A  MOTOR  HORN  is  heard 
off  L.  Excitedly)  Stasi,  dot's  my  Theodore!  (He 
runs  across  to  French  windows)  Stasi,  he  comes 
now  up  de  path.  (Calling  out)  Hallo,  Theodore! 
Hallo!  (Ad  lib.  as  he  waves  out  of  the  window) 
Look,  Stasi,  look  de  way  he  drives!  'Swonderful! 
Hertha,  open  de  door  for  your  broder!  (HERTHA 
exits  up  L.C.) 

STASI.  (Looking  out  eagerly)  Rosie's  mit  him, 
hah? 

WILLY.  Rosie  ?  He's  oud  mit  his  new  pardner. 

STASI.    (Turning,  disappointed)    Ach,  Gott!    My 


24  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

Rosie  waits  at  home  in  her  blue  dress  all  the  after 
noon. 

WILLY.  All  de  girls  vait  f er  my  Theodore !  But 
vait,  Stasi!  I  interdoose  you  Mr.  Leland,  a  great 
schwell  von  Boston.  ( STASI  takes  position  down  R. 
Calling  off  into  hall  L.C.)  Come  righd  in,  Mr.  Le 
land.  Come  righd  in.  (LELAND  enters  from  L.C. 
WILLY  shakes  hands  enthusiastically)  Glat  to  see 
you !  (LELAND  is  a  man  of  the  world,  about  thirty- 
five  years,  smooth  in  manner.)  Shake  hands  mit  my 
old  frient,  Mr.  Scheible.  (LELAND  crosses  to  STASI, 
who  looks  him  over  mistrustfully.)  We  come  over 
on  de  same  ship  a  hundret  years  ago.  (THEODORE 
enters  L.cJ  Stasi,  dis  is  Mr.  Wogan  Leland.  (HER- 
THA  re-enters  L.C.) 

LELAND.  (To  STASI)  How  d'ye  do.  (Shakes 
hands.) 

THEODORE.  (Coming  L.  to  WILLY)  Dad,  Mr.  Le- 
land's  name  is  "Vaughn"  not  "Wogan." 

WILLY.  (Apologetically)  I  git  him  straight  efter 
a  while.  (CARTER  enters  R.C.  He  is  a  man  of  forty- 
five,  silent  in  manner.  He  takes  position  up  L.  To 
STASI)  You  know  Carter?  (They  bow.  To  LELAND 
fussily)  But  take  off  your  dings.  (He  helps  LELAND 
off  with  his  motor  coat,  which  he  gives  to  BERTHA. 
STASI  keeps  looking  at  LELAND. ) 

THEODORE.  (Giving  his  coat  to  HERTHA,  too) 
Here,  Sis,  that's  right.  Take  Mr.  Leland's  coat.  Oh, 
Hertha,  bring  some  ice  in  the  cocktail  shaker.  (HER- 
THA  exitS'i^c.  and  immediately  re-enters,  and  during 
the  ensuing  dialogue,  crosses  to  R.  and  exits.) 

WILLY.   (To  STASI)   We  git  a  cocktail  now! 

STASI.    So.    A  cocktail. 

THEODORE.  Say,  Guv'nor,  I've  simply  got  to  have 
a  new  machine. 

WILLY.   Wat's  de  matter  mit  your  machine? 

THEODORE.  Engine's  got  the  hiccup. 

WILLY.    Well,  I  dink  aboud  it.    Mr.  Leland,  I 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  25 

jusht  been  telling  Mr.  Scheible  aboud  de  new  firm. 

STASI.   (Sizing  LELAND  up)   Yah. 

LELAND.    (Same  business)    Yes. 

WILLY.  (To  STASI)  My  Theodore  opens  a  branch 
office  here  in  Lynn  next  week. 

STASI.   So ! 

WILLY.  (Proudly)  Shure !  All  mohogany  furni 
ture  he's  got.  'Swonderful. 

THEODORE.  (To  STASI)  Anytime  you  want  to 
take  a  flyer  at  a  sure  thing,  we'll  put  you  on. 

STASI.  No,  Theodore.  I  don't  fly.  I  prefer  to 
walk.  (Enter  HERTHA  R.  with  a  cocktail  shaker.) 

THEODORE.  Ah,  here  we  are !  (Takes  shaker  from 
HERTHA,  who  sits  near  French  windows,  again 
sewing)  Carter,  get  the  glasses.  (CARTER  gets  them 
from  the  sideboard;  then  he,  LELAND  and  THEO 
DORE  gather  up  rear,  while  THEODORE  mixes  drinks 
at  sideboard  where  the  different  bottles  are  found 
in  one  of  the  compartments)  Oh,  Guv'nor.  Bring 
out  the  smokes. 

WILLY.  (Crossing  R.  to  get  humidor  on  table) 
Yah,  shure — shure. 

STASI.  (To  WILLY  at  R.  secretively)  Say,  Willy, 
what  do  you  know  about  this  Leland  feller  ? 

WILLY.  His  cousin  went  to  collitch  mit  my  Theo 
dore.  Carter  looked  him  up.  . ',;," 

STASI.  Carter?  Why  didn't  you  look  him  up 
yourself  ? 

WILLY.  W'at  for  I  got  a  confidential  man?  Car 
ter  says  Leland  is  A-i — gilt  edje — fine  people — so 
goot  as  my  factory. 

STASI.  Yah,  so.  (He  reaches  for  a  cigar  in  the 
humidor  that  WILLY  holds.) 

WILLY.  (Putting  the  humidor  behind  him  humor 
ously)  You  don'd  schmoke  tsigars,  hah  ?  (Moves  to 
cross  STASI. ) 

STASI.  (Stopping  him  with  a  challenge)  Yes,  by 
Gott,  I  will !  (He  faces  WILLY,  who  opens  the  hum- 


26  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT* 

{dor  reluctantly.  STASI  makes  a  move  toward  it. 
WILLY  stops  him  and  carefully  takes  out  one  cigar, 
-which  he  looks  at  lovingly.) 

WILLY.  (Giving  it  to  SxASiJ  Stasi,  you  musht 
schmoke  dot  mit  understanding.  Fifty  tscents. 

STASI.  Wrell,  we  get  a  little  high  life  too,  once  in 
a  while. 

WILLY.    (Genially)    All  right! 

STASI.   All  right!    (STASI  goes  down  R.) 

WILLY.  (Offering  LELAND  the  humidor)  Mr.  Le- 
land,  you  schmoke  a  liddle  tsigar? 

LELAND.    (Taking  one)    Yes,  thanks. 

THEODORE.  (To  LELANDJ  You  like  'em  dry,  don't 
you? 

LELAND.   Yes,  with  a  dash  of  absinthe. 

THEODORE.   Right  you  are. 

STASI.  (Holding  match  for  WILLY,)  Say,  Willy, 
you  let  him  put  absink  in  the  cocktails ! 

WILLY.  (Lighting  his  cigar)  Why  not!  'Swon- 
derful. 

STASI.   Well,  I  wait  and  see. 

THEODORE.  (Who  has  poured  out  cocktails  at  ta 
ble  c.)  Here  we  are !  Gentlemen,  all  set  ?  This  one 
for  Mr.  Leland.  Dad,  for  Uncle  Stasi.  Carter,  yours. 
All  set? — well,  then,  gentlemen,  I  give  you  my 
Guv'nor — a  rough  diamond,  but  the  best  in  the  world. 
(They  touch  glasses.) 

WILLY.  (Enthusiastically)  Prosht!  Prosht!  (He 
takes  his  glass  over  to  STASIJ  Prosht!  Stasi! 

STASI.  Prosht,  Willy.  (They  touch  glasses  and 
drink.  STASI  smacks  his  lips.) 

WILLY.    'Swonderful,  hah? 

STASI.    (Winking)   Hum 

THEODORE.  (To  LELAND,)  Great  old  boys,  eh? 
(He  goes  up  to  WILLY,  caressingly)  Say,  Guv'nor, 
I've  seen  a  car  that's  a  peach. 

WILLY.  (Indulgently)  I  fix  it  up  mit  Carter  in 
de  morning.  (CARTER  nods.  HERTHA  notes  this.) 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  27 

LELAND.  (Raising  his  glass)  To  the  new  mem 
ber  of  the  firm  of  Leland  &  Engel.  (All  bravo.) 

WILLY.    Braavo,  gentlemen!    Gentlemen 

THEODORE.  (To  all)  Psch!  Speech!  Speech! 
Dad's  going  to  make  a  speech. 

STASI.  Go  on,  Willy,  say  something.  Make  it  a 
little  speech. 

WILLY.  Shure,  I  make  a  speech.  (He  clears  his 
throat  with  elaborate  ceremony)  Gentlemen,  I  am  a 
very  prout  man  today.  Mr.  Leland,  I  got  prout  to 
have  you  fer  gesht  in  my  Theodore's  new  house — 
on  de  occasion  w'en  he  jusht  goes  into  business.  I 
got  prout  dot  he  goes  in  mit  you,  and  I  got  prout  to 
help  my  boy  mit  efreryding  I  got  in  de  world.  I  got 
prout — dot — well — I  got  prout  und  heppy — und  so — 

I (He  dries  up.) 

THEODORE.  (With  a  wink  at  LELANDJ  Sing  it, 
Guv'nor. 

WILLY.  (Promptly  taking  the  guy  for  earnest) 
Shure,  I  sing.  Do  you  like  to  hear  a  old  German 
song,  Mr.  Leland? 

LELAND.    Delighted.    Go  ahead. 
WILLY.  I  heerd  it  long  ago.  Och,  dot's  a  old  song. 
My  fader  used  to  sing  it  to  me  w'en  I  was  a  liddle 
feller,  und  I  used  to  sing  it  to  my  Theodore  w'en  he 
was  a  liddle  feller,  efter  Hertha  puts  him  to  bed. 

LELAND.    Go  ahead.    (WILLY,  here,  sings  an  old 
German  song.   WILLY  uses  a  very  simple  song  with 
a  melody  that  can  be  made  to  reveal  all  of  his  chang 
ing  moods,  from  joy  to  despair.   The  words  and  mu 
sic  appear  in  back  of  book.   They  laugh  and  applaud. 
STASI  and  WILLY  here  execute  a  little  comedy-dance, 
and  then  drink  in  Bruderschaft  fashion.) 
WILLY.    Do  you  like  it? 
OMNES.   Splendid!   Bravo! 

WILLY.  Och,  dot's  nodding.  We  could  sing  oncet, 
hah,  Stasi? 


28  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

STASI.    (Grimly)    Yah,  you  could  sing— once! 

WILLY.  (To  STASI;  Ach,  du  alter  Bengel !  Und 
now,  Stasi,  we  old  fellers,  we  go  upshtairs. 

STASI.  (Flourishing  his  cigar  down  R.;  It's  too 
late,  Willy. 

LELAND.  Time  for  me  to  be  ofT  too,  Mr.  Engel. 
Can  I  drop  you  any  place,  Mr.  Scheible  ? 

STASI.  No.  I  better  take  a  little  walk.  (To  WILLY; 
That  absink !  (Gesture  to  his  head.  WILLY  laughs.) 

LELAND.    Goodbye,  everybody. 

STASI.  Goodbye,  Willy — Theodore (Hubbub 

of  general  goodbyes.) 

WILLY.  (To  STASI;  We  git  our  pinochle  tomor- 
rer. 

STASI.    Good. 

WILLY.  Come  soon  again,  Mr.  Leland.  (Mingled 
conversation  as  they  go  off  through  arch  up  L.C. 
HERTHA  re-enters  R.;  puts  humidor  again  on  serv 
ing  table  R.;  clears  up  cocktail  glasses,  etc.  A 
MOTOR  heard  off  L.  and  final  goodbyes.  HERTHA 
is  about  to  carry  the  shaker  off  into  the  pantry,  when 
THEODORE  enters  L.C.  THEODORE  is  whistling  a 
snatch  of  the  latest  musical  comedy  air.) 

HERTHA.  Oh,  Theodore.  Have  you  been  urging 
Papa  to  foreclose  on  Richard? 

THEODORE.  Well,  we  don't  want  factory  people 
living  right  next  door. 

HERTHA.  (Passionately)  Factory  people!  How 
can  you  be  such  a  snob? 

WILLY.  (Entering  from  French  windows  down 
L.,  singing  his  old  song)  W'at  I  do  mit  dem  papers 
w'at  Stasi  brought  ?  (He  senses  the  row)  Wat's  the 
matter  here  ? 

THEODORE.   Oh,  nothing. 

WILLY.    Squabbling  mit  your  broder? 

THEODORE.  Hertha  feels  bad  about  your  taking 
over  Richard's  property. 

WILLY.    (With  complete  justification)   Wat's  she 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  29 

got  to  feel  fer  Richard?  I  waited  'til  efter  his  sis 
ter  gets  married,  don't  I  ? 

HERTHA.    Papa 

WILLY.  Shtill !  (Raising  his  voice)  I  want  dere 
shall  be  peace  in  dis  house!  (Pause)  Not  a  sound 
more!  (Subsiding)  You  wake  me  coffee  time — ha, 
Hertha?  (HERTHA  takes  up  cocktail  service  and 
exits  R.  WILLY  watches  HERTHA'S  exit;  then  says 
with  a  tender  smile)  Theodore,  she's  mad  on  us. 
But  wait,  I  want  to  show  you  someding.  (He  secre 
tively  takes  a  bankbook  from  his  back  pocket  and 
gives  it  to  THEODORE.,) 

THEODORE.  (Who  has  opened  the  book)  Ten 
thousand  dollars !  You've  opened  a  new  account  ? 

WILLY.   Psch !   Look  at  de  name  on  de  book. 

THEODORE.    (Reading)    "Hertha  Engel!" 

WILLY.  You  see,  Theodore,  I  bought  you  a  part 
nership  in  a  business.  I  do  this  now  for  Hertha. 
Dat's  de  beginning.  Und  effery  year  I  make  it  big 
ger. 

THEODORE.   You're  a  brick,  Dad. 

WILLY.  Yah,  ten  t'ousand  dollars.  Jusht  ten  times 
what  your  mother  brought  to  me  when  we  were 
married.  That  was  my  start  in  business.  I  want 
Hertha  to  have  that.  The  account  is  in  Mr.  Hutton's 
bank.  (Takes  back  the  book  and  puts  it  into  his 
pocket)  Dat's  a  surprise  for  her. 

THEODORE.  And  I've  got  a  surprise  for  you,  Dad. 
Old  Hutton  and  his  daughter,  Harriet,  are  coming 
here  today. 

WILLY.  W'at!  Dey  call  on  us?  De  presidenk  of 
de  bank? 

THEODORE.    Hum.   Hum.   They'll  be  here  shortly. 

WILLY.  (Joyfully  excited)  Say,  how  did  you 
manage  it? 

THEODORE.  They  had  a  bad  blowout.  I  gave  them 
a  tire. 

WILLY.  (Raising  his  eyes)  You  gave  them  a 


30  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

(Change  to  a  smile)  Oh,  he  comes  now  to  pay  f  er  it. 

THEODORE.    (Importantly)    I  won't  accept  it. 

WILLY.  (After  a  pause  of  comprehension)  Oh, 
I  see.  Haha!  You  begin  now  social  relations  with 
dem  peeble.  (Nudges  THEODORE,)  You  do  him  a 
favor,  hah? 

THEODORE.   You're  on,  Guv'nor. 

WILLY.   'Swonderful ! 

THEODORE.  Now,  Dad,  he'll  try  to  pay  you  for 
that  tire,  but  don't  you  accept  a  cent.  D'ye  hear,  re 
member  ? 

WILLY.  Shure,  I  remember.  You  leave  it  to  me ; 
I  fix  it.  Not  a  tscent ! 

THEODORE.  You  see,  motors  are  good  for  some 
thing  besides  riding  in. 

WILLY.  (Shrewdly,  following  him)  Yah,  and 
dat's  a  lucky  business,  Theodore.  (Pointing  around) 
Right  now,  in  de  new  house,  hah?  Und  beshides, 
Hutton  kin  somedime  maybe  do  me  a  favor,  too.  I 
need  a  lot  o'  capital  if  I  ever  want  to  put  Richard's 
new  machinery  in  de  factory. 

THEODORE.  Here,  here,  Guv'nor,  no  business  to 
day.  Remember,  this  is  a  social  call.  Harriet's  with 
him. 

WILLY.  (Nodding  as  he  comprehends  THEODORE'S 
insinuation)  Ach,  so!  Theodore,  you  could  do 
woise. 

THEODORE.  Think  so,  eh? 

WILLY.  She's  rich,  und  not  a  bad  looker.  (Enter 
HERTHA  R.  and  goes  to  the  table  to  arrange  the 
centre-piece  and  flowers.  THEY  don't  notice  her.) 

THEODORE.    She's  a  swell  girl,  all  right. 

WILLY.  It's  jusht  as  easy  to  love  a  rich  girl  as  a 
poor  one.  Und  a  bright  younk  feller  like  you,  mit  a 

collitch  etchikashun, Say, — you  bring  me  home 

a  daughter  like  Harriet, — dot's  worth  while. 

THEODORE.   Now  run  along,  Dad.  Behave. 

WILLY.   (Calling  loudly)  Hertha !   (He  turns  and 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  31 

sees  her)  Oh,  tell  Sophy  we  got  geshts  fer  coffee. 
Fix  dings  nice, — ha,  Hertha? 

HERTHA.  Yes,  Papa. 

WILLY.  (Excitedly)  Och  Gott !  I'm  glat !  I  fix 
de  frond  door  und  de  electric  lightds.  (He  runs  up 
to  the  rear  and  turns  LIGHTS  on)  'Swonderful ! 

THEODORE.  Go  up,  Dad,  and  get  into  some  real 
clothes.  (Pushes  him  toward  stairs  R.c.J 

WILLY.  (To  THEODORE,)  You  call  me  as  soon  as 
he  comes.  Ha?  Hertha,  put  de  water  on! 

HERTHA.   I'll  have  fresh  coffee. 

WILLY.  (Pointing  to  it  on  serving  table)  In  de 
percolator,  ha?  De  percolator! 

THEODORE.    (Urging  him  up)   Yes. 

WILLY.    (Coming  back)    Och,  turn  off  de  lighds ! 

THEODORE.  All  right,  Dad.  I'll  'tend  to  them. 
(He  finally  gets  WILLY  off  R.C.  and  turns  out 
LIGHTS.) 

WILLY.  (Reappearing)  My  pabers — och,  my  pa- 
bers 

THEODORE.  (Giving  them  to  him  from  table  c.) 
Here  they  are.  But  remember 

WILLY.  (Turning)  Shure  I  remember.  Not  a 
tscent!  (  WILLY  exits,  singing  as  he  goes  upstairs.) 

THEODORE.  Phew!  (Pause.  He  goes  over  to 
HERTHA,  who  has  sat  down  at  the  French  window, 
sewing.  Slightly  ashamed  of  his  caddishness) 
Hertha,  I'm  sorry  about  Richard's  losing  his  house. 
But  let's  not  encourage  him  to  come  running  in 
here  in  his  overalls  the  way  he  used  to  at  the  old 
place.  I  don't  want  to  seem  snobbish,  but  I  do  want 
to  make  other  associations  in  this  house. 

HERTHA.   Oh. 

THEODORE.  You  must  see  that  if  we're  going  to 
do  anything  in  society  in  this  town  we've  got  to  draw 
the  line  somewhere.  A  fellow's  father  goes.  After 
all,  Dad's  picturesque  and  has  the  coin,  but 

HERTHA.   (Picking  up  her  sewing)   Oh,  well,  it's 


32  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

not  likely  we'll  see  much  of  Richard  any  more,  now 
that  his  sister  Olive  is  married  and  moved  away. 
(This  speech  is  interrupted  by  RICHARD'S  hearty 
voice  from  the  pantry.) 

RICHARD.    (Off  K.)    All  right,  Sophy,  thank  you. 

HERTHA.    There's  Richard. 

THEODORE.    (Annoyed)    Did  you  ask  him  here? 

HERTHA.   Why,  no. 

THEODORE.  (Quickly)  Well,  get  rid  of  him  before 
the  Huttons  come,  that's  all.  Oh,  and  not  a  word 
about  the  property. 

(RICHARD  HELLMAN  enters  from  the  butler's  pantry. 
He  is  sturdy,  well-made  and  independent.) 

RICHARD.  (At  pantry  door)  Sophy  told  me  to 
come  right  in.  (Looking  about  the  room)  My !  This 
is  handsome. 

THEODORE.  (L.  of  table)  There's  a  doorbell  out 
in  front,  Richard. 

RICHARD.  (Laughing  a  little,  embarrassed)  Yes, 
I  know,  but  I  felt  a  kind  o'  more  comfortable  coming 
through  the  kitchen. 

THEODORE.    Oh ! 

HERTHA.   Richard,  hang  your  hat  in  the  hall. 

RICHARD.  Yes.  (He  crosses  behind  table,  looking 
admiringly  about  the  room,  then  exits  L.c.J 

HERTHA.  (Quickly  going  to  THEODORE,)  Theo 
dore,  now  that  he's  here,  you  can't 

THEODORE.  Well,  please  get  rid  of  him  before 
the  Huttons  come,  that's  all!  (Crosses  toward  exit 

R.C.J 

RICHARD.  (Re-entering  L.c.)  How  did  your  car 
work  today? 

THEODORE.  Something's  the  matter  with  the  en 
gine.  Oh,  you  might  take  a  look  at  it. 

RICHARD.  Yes,  I  will. 

THEODORE.    Thanks.    (Exits  upstairs  R.c.J 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  33 

RICHARD.  (Taking  out  a  letter)  I  got  a  special 
from  Olive. 

HERTHA.  You  must  miss  her,  Richard. 

RICHARD.  Sit  down.  I'll  read  you  what  she  writes. 
(She  sits  at  table  L.  and  unconsciously  picks  up  her 
sewing  again.  RICHARD  gives  a  long  look  at  her, 
then  reads)  "Dear  Brother  Richard:  I  have  now 
been  married  for  a  week,  and  in  our  happiness  John 
and  I  both  remember  you  with  thankfulness."  (To 
HERTHAJ  She's  a  brick,  isn't  she  ?  (Reading)  "The 
firm  have  given  him  a  raise  as  a  wedding  present." 
(To  HERTHAJ  Eh  ?  (Reading)  "Thank  Hertha  for 
the  box  of  linen  that  just  came.  She  must  have  done 
the  initials  herself."  (Slowly)  "Give  her  my  love, 
the  dear."  (He  looks  at  her)  "If  you  are  lonesome, 
go  over  to  see  Hertha."  (He  pauses.  She  doesn't 
look  up.)  "John  has  just  come  home  from  work,  so 
I  must  hurry  dinner."  (HERTHA  stops  sewing  and 
looks  out  over  the  audience.)  "Best  love  from  your 
sister  Olive." 

HERTHA.   She's  very  happy,  isn't  she? 

RICHARD.  He's  happy,  too.  You  know,  a  single 
life  is  only  half  a  life.  What  do  you  think? 

HERTHA.   I've  never  thought  about  it. 

RICHARD.  You  never  let  yourself.  Neither  did  I, 

— until — hum (He  touches  letter  affectionately 

and  pockets  it.  She  sews.  He  looks  at  her.) 

HERTHA.  (Rubbing  her  eyes  and  in  a  perfectly 
matter-of-fact  tone)  The  days  are  getting  short. 

RICHARD.  It's  coming  on  November.  (He  pulls 
up  blinds  on  French  window)  Better? 

HERTHA.  Thank  you.  (She  resumes  her  sewing, 
then  says  impersonally  as  he  walks  around  rear  of 
table)  I  guess  you'll  soon  begin  thinking  of  getting 
married,  too. 

RICHARD.  (Surprised,  sitting  R.  of  table)  Now, 
what  made  you  say  that? 

HERTHA.  Oh,  they  say,  when  one  in  a  family 


34  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

RICHARD.   (Earnestly)  Say,  will  you  take  a  walk? 

HERTHA.  (Shaking  her  head)  I  can't.  I've  got 
to  help  Sophy  pretty  soon ;  so  you  mustn't  stay  too 
long  today. 

RICHARD.  Yes.  (He  rises  and  walks  around  the 
table  back,  looking  around)  Say — do  you  like  this, 
new  house? 

HERTHA.   Yes,  don't  you? 

RICHARD.  Well — I  found  it  lots  easier  to  talk  to 
you  in  the  old  place. 

HERTHA.  I  haven't  changed. 

RICHARD.  (Eagerly)  No?  (Pause.  She  sews.) 
What's  that  you're  making? 

HERTIIA.   A  centerpiece. 

RICHARD.  (Looking  at  it)  It's  like  the  wedding 
present  you  sent  Olive. 

HERTHA.  I'll  do  a  set  for  your  bride,  if  you'll 
let  me  know  in  time. 

RICHARD.  (Behind  her  chair)  I've  got  her  all 
picked  out,  if  she'll  only  have  me. 

HERTHA.   (Sewing)   Why  shouldn't  she  have  you? 

RICHARD.   Well,  you  see,  her  family's  rich,  and — 

HERTHA.  Papa  says  it's  just  as  easy  to  love  a  rich 
girl  as  a  poor  one. 

RICHARD.  (Surprised)  Gosh!  (Laughs)  Did  he 
say  that? 

HERTHA.  Yes. 

RICHARD.  And  I've  got  a  home  that  I  hope  in  a 
little  while  to  hold  free  and  clear  for  her;  or  else 
your  father's  not  a  business  man. 

HERTHA.  Oh,  Richard (Stops.) 

RICHARD.   What  ? 

HERTHA.  Why  didn't  you  try  to  pay  your  mort 
gage  off  before? 

RICHARD.  (Confidently)  I  saw  I  had  either  to 
put  a  mortgage  on  my  future  or  keep  the  mortgage 
on  the  place,  so  I  put  my  money  into  the  workshop 
and  the  model.  (Enthusiastically)  And  it  was  worth 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  35 

it — for  now  I've  got  the  greatest  patent  of  them  all 
for  him. 

HERTHA.   Is  it  so  wonderful  as  that? 

RICHARD.  (Quietly  serious)  It  will  put  his  com 
petitors  out  of  business. 

HERTHA.   You've  done  all  this  for  Father? 

RICHARD.  He  gets  first  call  on  everything  I  do. 
(She  sews  nervously.)  What's  the  matter? 

HERTHA.  (Looking  toward  stairs  R.cJ  Nothing 
— nothing (Sews.) 

RICHARD.  Hertha,  won't  you  help  me? 

HERTHA.  If  I  can. 

RICHARD.  You  know  what  I'm  trying  to  ask  you, 
don't  you? 

HERTHA.  Richard,  Father  must  help  you  to  get  a 
start. 

RICHARD.  (Earnestly)  And  with  a  good  woman 
to  help  him,  a  man  can  do  things  in  this  world ! 

HERTHA.  (Sewing  very  nervously)  Why,  of 
course.  And  it  must  be  wonderful  for  any  woman 
to  have  a  man  like  you  to  care  for  her.  You  can 
knock  at  any  door,  Richard.  (Turning  over  her 
work)  And  when  a  man  is  a  good  brother,  he's 
likely  to  be  a  good  husband. 

RICHARD.  Then — ah — can  we — can  we  call  it 
settled?  Eh? 

HERTHA.  What!  You  mean  me?  You  want  to 
marry  me? 

RICHARD.  (Mopping  his  brozv)  Well — what  do 
you  think  I've  been  talking  about  all  this  time? 
You're  the  reason  why  I've  worked  and  worked — • 
Why  I've  stayed  on  with  your  father  and  given  what 
brains  I  have  to  him.  I've  had  offers  from  other 
people  in  the  field,  who  believe  in  the  new  methods. 
But  I've  wanted  all  along  to  earn  my  right  to  have 
you. 

HERTHA.    You  want  to  marry  me? 


36  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

RICHARD.  Yes.  I  want  you  in  my  home — just  like 
John's  got  Olive. 

HERTHA.    I  never  thought 

RICHARD.  (Interrupting)  We've  never  had  a 
chance  to  think  about  ourselves — you  and  I.  But  now 
that  Theodore's  grown  up,  and  Olive's  settled — it 
isn't  selfish  to  think  about  our  own  lives  now. 
You've  got  a  life  of  your  own  to  lead.  So  have  I. 

HERTHA.   I — I  don't  know — I 

RICHARD.  Now,  there's  nothing  to  he  scared  of. 
(A  pause)  Hertha,  won't  you  come  to  me  ?  (Pause. 
She  looks  up  at  him,  then  quietly  goes  toward  him. 
He  folds  her  in  his  arms  and  kisses  her  firmly,  then 
sits  her  down  in  chair  and  gets  away  and  looks  at 
her.  She  sits  doiam  exactly  as  he  places  her.  Very 
practically)  Now  where's  your  father?  (She  points 
up  R.C.  He  starts  to  go  behind  table  toward  exit  R.c.J 

HERTHA.  (Suddenly  rising)  Wait,  Richard !  (He 
stops.)  You'd  better  let  me  speak  to  him  first. 

RICHARD.   Oh,  no.   That's  the  man's  part. 

HERTHA.    Richard !    Please ! 

RICHARD.  Well,  if  you  say  so.  (He  comes  down 
toward  R.  door)  I'll  take  a  look  at  Theodore's  en 
gine. 

HERTHA.   Yes, — do. 

RICHARD.  Until  tonight 

HERTHA.  Until  tonight.  (He  looks  at  her  stand 
ing  c. ;  draws  a  deep  breath  of  pride  and  exits  quick 
ly  through  pantry.) 

(There  is  a  pause  of  deep  romantic  feeling  for 
HERTHA.  Suddenly  the  front  DOORBELL 
rings.  HERTHA  is  startled  back  into  the  com 
monplace  again.) 

WILLY.  (Calling  down  loudly)  Hertha!  Ish  dat 
de  Huttons? 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  37 

( SOPHY  enters  R. ;  pauses  at  door  and  takes  off  her 
blue  gingham  apron,  showing  a  frilly  white 
apron  underneath.) 

THEODORE.  (Appearing  at  foot  of  stairs  simulta 
neously)  Dad,  don't  yell  like  that.  ( SOPHY  crosses 
and  exits  L.c.J 

WILLY.  (Commandingly)  Hertha  shall  open  de 
door.  (HERTHA  starts  to  go  toward  hall  L.c.J 

THEODORE.  (To  HERTHAJ  Sophy's  here.  (HER 
THA  stops.  Calling  again  to  WILLY/  You  get  into 
your  coat  and  come  down  quietly. 

WILLY.    (Off)    Shure  I  come. 

THEODORE.    (To  HERTHA^    Coffee  ready? 

HERTHA.  Yes,  it  will  be  in  a  moment. 

WILLY.  (Coming  downstairs  expansively.  He  is 
dressed  in  his  Sunday  best,  carrying  the  newspapers) 

Well — well By  Jo !  Dot's  a  great  pleasure  to — 

(He  expects  the  Huttons.  SOPHY  re-enters  at  this 
point.  They  meet  in  front  of  table)  Oh,  dot's  you, 
is  it?  Nu — Sophy — say,  where  are  dey?  (Glares  at 
SOPHY.) 

SOPHY.  (Sulkily)  It's  nobody.  (She  crosses  and 
puts  on  her  old  apron  again  over  her  white  one.) 

WILLY.  (Bursting,  as  he  throws  newspaper  on 
table  c.)  W'at's  de  matter  mit  you,  Sophy?  How 
kin  nobody  rink  dat  bell? 

SOPHY.  It's  only  somebody  was  looking  fer  de 
wrong  number. 

WILLY.    (Disappointed)    Ach  so. 

THEODORE.   False  alarm,  Dad. 

SOPHY.    (Grumbling)   Yah,  bells  and  bells,  und — 

WILLY.  (Suddenly  seeing  ashes  on  floor  at  L.cJ 
Sophy.  Look  here, — ashes  on  de  floor !  Who  done 
dat? 

SOPHY.  (Looking  at  floor  where  he  points)  I  don't 
schmoke  tsigars. 

WILLY.    (Sarcastically)   You  don'd  say  so! 


38  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

HERTHA.  (Keeping  peace  between  them)  Papa — 
(Then  to  SOPHYJ  Get  a  dustpan  quick,  Sophy. 

WILLY.  (With  a  change  to  mildness)  Yah, 
Sophy,  clean  it  up,  please,  quick.  (He  waves  her  off. 
SOPHY  exits  R.  WILLY  turns  to  THEODORE  excited 
ly)  Say,  Theodore,  it's  time  de  Huttons  come  now, 
ain't  it  ? 

THEODORE.  Yes. 

WILLY.  Firsht  we  gif  'em  coffee  in  de  dining 
room. 

THEODORE.    No,  no. 

WILLY.  (Proudly)  Mit  de  percolator  und  de 
electric  lighds.  (Pointing  off  R.  rear)  Den  we  take 
'em  in  de  parlor,  und 

THEODORE.  That's  a  drawing-room,  Guv'nor. 

WILLY.  I  alvays  fergit  dat, — de  drawing-room. 
Come,  Theodore,  we  make  a  big  fire  in  de  drawing- 
room,  so  it  looks  nice  und  comfortable  w'en  dey 
come  in. 

THEODORE.  All  right.  (They  exit  R.c.  as  SOPHY 
enters  R.  with  a  dustpan  and  broom.) 

HERTHA.  (Busied  at  table  with  doilies)  That's 
right,  Sophy. 

SOPHY.  (Sweeping  ashes  in  front  of  table)  Schon 
gut. 

HERTHA.   Is  the  kettle  boiling  ? 

SOPHY.   Yah,  it  boils, — jusht  like  your  fader. 

HERTHA.  I'll  make  the  coffee  in  the  percolator. 

SOPHY.  De  poikolator!  My  coffee  ain't  goot 
enough  no  more ! 

HERTHA.  Oh,  yes,  Sophy,  but  with  company  we 
want  to  serve  it  in  here.  I'll  'tend  to  it. 

SOPHY.   No.   I  fix  it. 

WILLY.   (Calling  off)  Hertha!  Hertha! 

HERTHA.    Yes,  Papa. 

SOPHY.   Now  he  begins  again.    (She  exits  quickly 

R.J 

WILLY.    (Appearing  up  R.C.  with  sleeves  rolled 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  39 

back)  Hertha !  Hertha !  Why  don'd  you  come  w'en 
I  call?  (Viciously)  Now  dot  chimney  in  de  draw 
ing-room  don'd  draw! 

HERTHA.  (Taking  newspaper  from  table)  I'll 
light  some  newspaper  and  warm  the  flue. 

WILLY.  You  git  de  coffee  ready.  (He  takes 
newspaper  and  goes  up  R.C.) 

THEODORE.  (Entering  up  R.C.)  Dad — let  some 
body  else  do  that.  You'll  get  yourself  all  fussed. 

WILLY.  No — no,  sirree!  I  do  it  myself.  Den  I 
know  it's  righd.  (Exits  R.c.) 

SOPHY.  (Entering  from  R.)  Theodore,  I  was 
lookin'  oud.  De  Huttons  come  now  on  de  front 
door!  Mein  Gott,  w'at  we  do  mit  'em? 

HERTHA.    I'll  go.    (BELL  rings.) 

THEODORE.  (Stopping  HERTHA)  No.  Sophy,  you 
let  them  in.  (To  HERTHA,)  I  don't  want  them  to  see 
you  acting  like  a  servant.  (  SOPHY  nervously  un 
does  her  apron  again  and  puts  it  in  chair  next  to  R. 
door.)  Hurry  up!  (She  crosses  to  L.C.)  And  put 
some  style  on.  (  SOPHY  lifts  her  skirts  and  runs 
across,  showing  her  white  stockings.  Laughing) 
Golly!  Look  at  the  style.  ( SOPHY  exits  L.C.) 

WILLY.  (Entering  from  up  R.C.,  excitedly)  Dot's 
de  Huttons!  (DOOR  heard  off.  THEODORE  exits 
L.C.  WILLIE  continues  joyfully)  We  do  it  up 
schwell!  (Crossing  to  pantry)  I  wash  my  hants! 
I  fixed  a  elegant  fire.  (Exits  R.) 

THEODORE.  (Heard  off  L.C.)  How  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Hutton?  (GREETINGS  heard)  I'll  put  your 
things  right  here.  (Ad  lib.) 

WILLY.  (Putting  his  head  through  R.  door) 
Hertha!  Hertha!  Dere's  nodding  but  a  dish-towel 
here!  (Lively  swinging  door  comes  back.  WILLY 
ducks.  HERTHA  exits  R.  as  HARRIET  HUTTON  enters 
L.C.  She  is  a  self-contained  young  woman  of  twenty- 
one.  She  is  followed  by  SOPHY,  who  goes  around 


40  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

rear  of  table,  looking  at  her  admiringly.  HARRIET  is 
beautifully  gowned.] 

HARRIET.  (Turning  and  speaking  off  R.)  Shall  I 
go  right  in? 

THEODORE.  (Off)  Yes,  please.  (  SOPHY  has  got  to 
R.  door,  and  is  smiling  at  HARRIET  as  HERTHA  en 
ters  from  R.  behind  her.  SOPHY  snatches  up  her  blue 
apron  and  disappears  into  the  pantry.) 

HARRIET.  I'm  Harriet  Hutton.  You're  Miss  En- 
gel,  aren't  you? 

HERTHA.   Yes — I'm  Theodore's  sister. 

HARRIET.  Odd  that  we  never  met  before,  isn't  it? 
(Shakes  hands.) 

(Enter  HUTTON  from  L.C.,  followed  by  THEODORE. 
HUTTON  is  the  complete  type  of  reserved  New 
England  gentleman.) 

THEODORE.  Mr.  Hutton,  let  me  introduce  my  sis 
ter. 

HUTTON.  Ah,  yes.  I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you, 
young  lady.  You've  met  Harriet?  (They  bow. 
WILLY  enters  R.J 

WILLY.  (Again  very  expansively)  Ah,  how  d'ye 
do,  Mr.  Hutton!  (He  crosses  and  meets  HUTTON 
c.  in  front  of  table.  WILLY  shakes  him  very  enthu 
siastically  by  the  hand)  Well — well — by  Jo!  Dot's 
a  great  pleasure  to 

HUTTON.  Thank  you. 

WILLY.    Hertha,  coffee.    (She  exits  R.j 

HUTTON.   Please  don't  trouble,  because 

WILLY.  (Closing  HUTTON  off)  Psch!  Dot's  no 
trouble. 

HUTTON.  (Introducing  HARRIET)  My  daughter, 
Mr.  Engel. 

WILLY.  (Enthusiastically)  Well — well — by  Jo! 
(WILLY  shakes  hands  with  HARRIETJ  'Swonderful ! 
Dere's  no  children  any  more.  Ha,  Mr.  Hutton  ?  We 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  41 

don'd  know  how  old  we  git  until  we  see  our  babies 
already  gitting  married — hah?  But  sit  down. 

HUTTON.  ( Not  sitting)  We  really  can't  stay  a  mo 
ment. 

WILLY.  Dot's  nonsense!  I  don'd  let  you  go  so 
soon — de  firsht  time  I  got  de  pleasure  to  git  you  in 
our  new  house. 

HUTTON.  Your  son  was  obliging  enough  to  help 
us  with  a  tire. 

WILLY.  (Promptly)  Pst,  oh,  no!  Not  a  word! 
Not  a  tscent !  (He  looks  proudly  at  THEODORE,  who 
is  sitting  down  L.  with  HARRIET. ) 

(Enter  SOPHY  and  HERTHA  R.  with  percolator  and 
coffee-cake.  They  put  percolator  on  sideboard 
rear.  HERTHA  pours  out  coffee.) 

HUTTON.  Well,  you'll  really  make  me  feel  very 
uncomfortable,  if  you  do  not  allow  me  to  pay  for  it. 

WILLY.  Oh,  Mr.  Hutton,  between  friends,  dot's 
nodding. 

HUTTON.   I'll  send  you  a  check  in  the  morning. 

WILLY.    (Flatly)    I  don'd  deposit  it. 

THEODORE.    Guv'nor,  don't  insist. 

WILLY.  (Perplexed)  No?  (Then  turning  to 
HUTTON  again)  Well,  I  only  hope  that  w'en  you 
have  anodder  blowoud  you  make  me  one  of  de  party 
too.  (They  laugh.)  Dot's  goot,  hah?  (He  nudges 
HUTTON  in  the  ribs.  HUTTON  retreats.) 

THEODORE.  Guv'nor!  (SOPHY  has  come  dozvn  L. 
of  HUTTON  with  a  cup  of  coffee  on  a  tray,  which 
she  offers  to  HUTTON.  J 

WILLY.  Ah,  now  we  have  some  coffee.  (To 
THEODORE  and  HARRIET,)  Come,  children 

HUTTON.  (To  SOPHY^  No,  thank  you.  I  never 
take  it  after  breakfast.  (During  the  following  dia 
logue  SOPHY  helps  them  ALL,  as  HERTHA  serves 


42  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  I 

from  the  percolator.  SOPHY  has  the  business  of  look 
ing  amazed  at  HUTTON  for  refusing  coffee.) 

WILLY.  (To  HUTTON,  surprised  and  disappoint 
ed)  No? 

HUTTON.    No.    ( SOPHY  starts  to  offer  the  cup  to 

WlLLY.J 

WILLY.  (Imitating  HUTTON'S  manner)  No. 
(  SOPHY  is  perplexed.  She  goes  back  to  HERTHA. 
To  HUTTON,)  Well,  maybe  someding  elset  I  kin 
offer  you?  Hah?  Maybe  a  little  wine,  hah? 
(Smacks  his  lips.) 

HUTTON.   I  never  drink,  thank  you. 

WILLY.  (Amazed)  No?  ( HUTTON  shakes  his 
head.)  Well,  anyway  a  fine  tsigar — someding  spe 
cial  extra?  (He  goes  for  humidor  on  serving  table 
up  R.J 

HUTTON.   I've  never  smoked  in  my  life. 

WILLY.  (Utterly  nonplussed)  No?  (He  looks 
HUTTON  over)  Well,  by  Jo !  Tell  me, — how  do  you 
schpend  your  money?  (Puts  humidor  back  after 
taking  a  cigar.) 

HUTTON.  Oh,  pretty  much  as  you  do,  I  guess. 

WILLY.  (Biting  off  cigar)  Yah,  yah,  it  coshts 
someding  to  bring  de  children  up  dese  days.  Col- 
litch  etchikashun,  automobiles — Society.  But  why 
shouldn't  dey  have  it  while  we're  here  mit  'em,  hah  ? 

HUTTON.  That's  one  way  to  look  at  it,  I  suppose. 

WILLY.  (Lighting  cigar)  I  build  dis  house,  jusht 
for  my  Theodore.  In  a  liddle  while  I  hope  he  settles 
down.  (Smiling)  W'en  de  right  girl  comes  along — 
Hah?  (Looking  at  THEODORE  and  HARRIET  talking 
together  at  Lj  W'at  you  dink  about  it,  hah? 

HUTTON.  (Having  been  admiring  room)  Splen 
did!  Splendid! 

WILLY.  Dere's  no  use  of  two  ways  o'  talking 
about  it.  I  believe  dat  younk  peeble  should  marry 
younk. 

HUTTON.   Yes — do  you? 


ACT  I  OUR  CHILDREN  43 

WILLY.  (Secretively  pointing  to  THEODORE  and 
HARRIET  talking)  Look,  Mr.  Hutton.  He's  blonde. 
She's  blonde.  'Swonderful ! 

HUTTON.    (Uncomfortably)    Yes — yes 

WILLY.  (With  a  wide  gesture)  Dot's  his — Carte- 
blanche !  All  his !  My  Theodore  kin  do  w'at  he  likes ! 

HUTTON.  Well,  I'm  a  little  old-fashioned  and 
Puritanical,  I  guess.  But  I  don't  believe  in  spoiling 
a  good  colt  by  giving  him  his  head  too  quickly. 

WILLY.  Ach,  dot's  all  righd  mit  girls.  Mit  boys 
it's  different.  (HUTTON  shakes  his  head.)  Ah,  you 
don'd  know  my  Theodore.  Pst,  pst!  (Loudly)  So 
he  don'd  hear  me.  (He  motions  HUTTON  into  chair 
R.  of  table.  He  draws  around  chair  L.  of  table  and 
sits  with  back  to  audience  and  speaks  ad  lib.  to  HUT- 
TON.  SOPHY  conies,  offering  cake  and  coffee  to  HAR 
RIET.,) 

HARRIET.   No,  thank  you. 

SOPHY.  (Disappointed)  Welcome.  (Offering  cof 
fee  and  cake  to  THEODORE.,) 

THEODORE.  (Waving  her  off)  No,  thank  you! 
(He  turns  again  to  HARRIET.,) 

SOPHY.  (Disgusted)  De  poikolater  coffee !  (She 
goes  back  to  HERTHA,  who  motions  her  to  take  the 
things  away.  SOPHY  takes  things  off  R.J 

WILLY.  Come,  Mr.  Hutton.  I  show  you  now  up 
stairs.  Und,  you  know,  I  got  a  den. 

HUTTON.   But 

WILLY.  (Taking  HUTTON  by  arm  and  going  with 
him  toward  exit  R.cJ  Ach,  dey  don't  miss  us.  Come 
dis  way,  Mr.  Hutton.  Und  you  know  we  got  closets, 
dot  as  soon  as  you  open  de  door  de  electric  lighds 
goes  on.  Phwishts!  'Swonderful.  (HUTTON  goes 
off  upstairs,  followed  by  WILLY.  Turning  at  foot 
of  stairs)  Hertha,  come  mit  de  keys.  (HERTHA 
passes  WILLY  and  goes  upstairs.  WILLY  continues, 
saying)  Go  in  the  firsht  door  on  de  left,  Mr.  Hut- 


44 


OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 


ton.  Dot's  my  den.  (Exits  upstairs.  After  the 
OTHERS  are  off  HARRIET  rises,  with  a  laugh.) 

THEODORE.  Are  you  laughing  at  my  father? 

HARRIET.   Oh,  no.   I  was  really  laughing  at  mine. 

THEODORE.    My  governor's  a  prince. 

HARRIET.  And  mine's  a  prig.  What  made  you 
build  a  new  house  here  in  Lynn? 

THEODORE.  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It's  where  I've  al 
ways  lived. 

HARRIET.  (Fervently)  Don't  you  sometimes  wish 
that  you  could  get  away  from  where  you've  always 
lived? 

THEODORE.   Why,  I've  been  to  college. 

HARRIET.  Oh,  a  college  town — that's  almost  as 
dull  as  this.  I  mean  a  big  city  where  something's 
doing — and  people.  Oh,  I'm  only  a  girl,  and  I  can't 
get  away,  but  I  should  think  you  would  want  to  see 
something  of  Life! 

THEODORE.  (Swaggering  a  little)  Well,  I'll  be  in 
Boston  a  good  deal  this  winter. 

HARRIET.  Yes ? 

THEODORE.  You  see,  I'm  a  partner  now  with  Le- 
land  in  the  brokerage  business. 

HARRIET.    You're  a  partner? 

THEODORE.  Ah,  ha. 

HARRIET.  Then,  maybe,  you  can  advise  me.  I've 
got  some  money  I  want  to  invest. 

THEODORE.    But,  surely,  your  father 

HARRIET.  Oh,  Father  mustn't  know  anything  about 
it.  It's  my  own  money.  My  grandmother  left  it  to 
me,  and  it's  nobody's  business  what  I  do  with  it. 
(Secretively)  I've  had  a  tip.  What  do  you  know 
about  Homestead  Oil? 

THEODORE.   I'll  have  my  office  look  it  up. 

HARRIET.   All  right.   Do. 

THEODORE.  Say!  I  think  you're  swell.  (Pause) 
I'm  buying  a  new  car  that  will  eat  the  road  between 
this  Sleepy  Hollow  and  Civilization. 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  45 

HARRIET.  Oh,  let  me  imagine  it !  You  see,  Father 
won't  let  our  chauffeur  go  faster  than  a  hearse.  The 
only  excitement  we  ever  have  is  when  we  get  a 
blowout,  like  this  afternoon. 

THEODORE.   I'm  glad  you  had  that  blowout. 

HARRIET.   Are  you?   Why? 

THEODORE.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that,  we  might 
never  have  met. 

HARRIET.    But  from  now  on  you'll  be  too  busy 

THEODORE.  To  what? 

HARRIET.  (Leading  him  on)  To  give  that  new  car 
all  the  exercise  it  needs. 

THEODORE.    Perhaps  you'll  help  me.   Will  you? 

HARRIET.   Tell  me  how  I  can? 

THEODORE.  Well,  you  might  sit  right  next  to  me 
on  the  front  seat  and  keep  an  eye  out  for  the  motor 
cops. 

HARRIET.   I  know  you're  a  wonderful  driver. 

THEODORE.   How  do  you  know? 

HARRIET.   Oh,  I've  noticed  you. 

THEODORE.   Where  ? 

HARRIET.    Oh,  never  mind. 

THEODORE.  When  am  I  going  to  have  the  chance 
to  take  you  out? 

HARRIET.  I'm  not  allowed  to  go  out  with  young 
men  without 

THEODORE.   Couldn't  you  manage  it  some  way? 

HARRIET.  Well,  we  might  call  your  new  car  the 
"Chaperone." 

THEODORE.    Good ! 

HARRIET.  Perhaps  you'll  come  and  dine  with  us 
some  evening,  and  then 

THEODORE.  Be  delighted. 

HARRIET.  When  Father  goes  up  to  his  library  we, 
ah 

THEODORE.  We'll  take  the  "Chaperone"  out  for  a 
run.  When  may  I  come? 


46  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

HARRIET.  I'll  let  you  know. 

THEODORE.  It  only  takes  a  half  hour  to  get  to 
Boston,  and  if  you  like  to  dance 

HARRIET.  They've  got  wonderful  music  at  the 
Touraine.  You  come  Thursday  evening,  and  I'll  ar 
range  it  some  way.  (They  have  got  very  close  to 
gether.  THEODORE'S  back  is  to  French  windows.  At 
this  point  ROSIE  enters  from  French  windows. 
ROSIE  is  in  her  blue  dress  with  a  motor  wrap  on. 
She  enters  quickly,  then  suddenly  sees  them  together 
and  recoils  a  step;  stands  looking  at  them.) 

THEODORE.  (Continuing  very  eagerly)  Say,  I'm 
for  you!  Can't  I  see  you  before  Thursday?  We've 
got  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

ROSIE.   Oh 

HARRIET.    (Looking  up)    Oh — why ? 

THEODORE.  What?  (They  BOTH  turn  and  see 
ROSIE  together.  Pause.  He  goes  toward  her  dozvn 

•L.) 

ROSIE.   (Embarrassed^  I  beg  your  pardon.  I 

THEODORE.  Why,  Rosie,  come  in.  ( ROSIE  doesn't 
move.  The  GIRLS  look  at  each  other.)  Golly !  Were 
you  waiting  all  this  time? 

ROSIE.  I  was  afraid  something  happened.  You 
know  you  drive  so  recklessly.  So  I  just  came  over 
to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

THEODORE.  I  was  out  on  business  with  my  part-* 
ner.  I  should  have  'phoned  you,  but  it  slipped  my 
mind. 

ROSIE.   Oh — it  doesn't  matter. 

HARRIET.  (Very  self-possessed)  Won't  you  in 
troduce  me? 

THEODORE.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Hutton — 
Miss  Scheible. 

HARRIET.  I'm  afraid  I'm  to  blame  for  interfering 
with  your  plans.  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me. 

ROSIE.  Oh,  please ! 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  47 

THEODORE.  (To  HARRIET,)  I  was  going  to  take 
Rosie  for  a  ride,  that's  all. 

HARRIET.  It's  really  too  bad.  (Noticing  ROSIE'S 
clothes)  We  don't  like  to  be  forgotten  when  we're 
all  dressed  up. 

THEODORE.  Oh,  I  remember  the  surprise.  Some 
thing  blue — and  a  motor  wrap  to  match.  But  we'll 
have  our  ride  some  other  time,  eh — Rosie?  (RosiE 
is  left  standing  for  a  second;  then  with  the  com 
posure  of  pride,  she  starts  to  go  R.  At  this  point 
HUTTON  enters  from  stairs,  followed  by  WILLY  and 
HERTHA.J 

HUTTON.  You've  a  very  ambitious  house,  Mr. 
Engel. 

WILLY.  I  betcher!  Dere's  no  use  o'  two  ways  o' 
talking  about  it — w'en  you  do  it  do  it  right.  (Sud 
denly  seeing  ROSIE,)  Hallo,  Rosie. 

HUTTON.  Oh,  this  is  the  young  lady  I've  seen  in 
the  stationery  store.  How  do  you  do?  (He  crosses 
to  her  and  shakes  hands  cordially.) 

ROSIE.    Very  well,  thank  you,  Mr.  Hutton. 

HUTTON.  How  is  your  uncle  ? 

ROSIE.   He's  very  well,  thank  you. 

HUTTON.  Tell  him  I'm  still  waiting  for  that 
promised  game  of  chess.  You  must  meet  my  daugh 
ter.  (HARRIET  and  THEODORE  are  absorbed  in  con 
versation  at  L.J  Harriet — Harriet,  this  is  Miss 
Scheible. 

HARRIET.   We've  just  met. 

HUTTON.  Oh. 

HERTHA.  (Seeing  ROSIE'S  embarrassment)  Rosie — 
( ROSIE  goes  to  HERTHA  up  rear.) 

HUTTON.  I  always  love  to  see  her  happy,  cheer 
ful  face.  (RosiE  and  HERTHA  exit  R.,  carrying  the 
percolator  and  tray.) 

WILLY.  Yah,  she's  a  goot  girl.  She's  the  niece  of 
my  oldest  friend.  Und  w'en  her  modder  dies  my 


48  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

friend  Scheible,  he  adopts  her.  Yah,  she's  jusht  like 
a  daughter  in  dis  house. 

HUTTON.  Oh,  I  see.  You  mean  your  son  and 

WILLY.  No,  no — I  don'd  mean  w'at  you  mean. 
Jusht  goot  friends.  Nodding  more. 

HUTTON.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  Come,  Harriet. 
(HARRIET  and  THEODORE  exit  L.c.j 

WILLY.   What's  de  hurry? 

HUTTON.  I've  got  a  vestry  meeting  before  ser 
vices. 

WILLY.  Well — now  dat  you  know  de  way — und, 
ah,  where  we  live,  I  hope 

HUTTON.   Thank  you. 

WILLY.  Mr.  Hutton,  I  don'd  play  chess  myself — 
but  now  that  we  meet  socially,  somedime — I  give 
myself  de  pleasure  to  call  now  on  you  mit  Theodore, 
hah? 

HUTTON.  Yes,  do. 

WILLY.  Den  dat's  all  right.  (Slaps  him  on  the 
shoulder,  as  he  exits)  I'm  very  glat — (Etc.  ad  lib. 
HERTHA  enters  R.;  gathers  together  the  remaining 
coffee  things.  "Goodbyes"  are  heard  off  L.C.  Re- 
entering  L.C.)  Theodore  walks  mit  'em  to  de  gate! 
(He  goes  rapidly  to  French  windows  and  calls  out) 
Goodbye,  Mr.  Hutton.  Goodbye !  Come  soon  again. 
(Bowing  and  waving  his  hand)  Goodbye,  younk 
lady.  Come  soon  again.  (He  comes  down  c,  very 
much  pleased)  I  tell  you,  'swonderf ul ! 

HERTHA.  Papa,  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you 
about  Richard. 

WILLY.   Hah? 

HERTHA.    Papa,  you  like  Richard,  don't  you? 

WILLY.  "Like  Richard?"  What's  to  like?  (Dis 
missing  the  subject)  I  arg'  enough  mit  Stasi  aboud 
Richard.  Don'd  you  begin.  (Pause)  Nu — well? 
What  is  it? 

HERTHA.  I  want  you  to  like  him  very  much,  be 
cause 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  49 

WILLY.   Now,  what  happens? 

HERTHA.    Richard  wants  me  to  marry  him. 

WILLY.  (Staggered)  Wat !  (Suddenly  exploding) 
De  loafer!  He's  got  nerve!  (He  puts  down  his 
cigar  on  the  tray  on  table  c.  Controlling  himself) 
And  you  let  him  propose  to  you  ? 

HERTHA.   I  have  promised  to  marry  him. 

WILLY.    Since  w'en? 

HERTHA.   This  afternoon. 

WILLY.   He's  here? 

HERTHA.   He's  fixing  Theodore's  automobile. 

WILLY.  So (Moving  toward  pantry  quickly) 

Well,  I  seddle  dot  business  righd  away. 

HERTHA.  Papa.  (He  stops  at  door.)  I  wished  to 
speak  to  you  first. 

WILLY.  So — Richard  sends  you  to  me,  hah?  He 
don'd  lose  no  time — dat  feller. 

HERTHA.   He's  waited  all  these  years. 

WILLY.  Yah,  he  vaits — he  vaits  until  he  sees  you 
now  in  a  fine  big  house. 

HERTHA.    You've  no  right  to  think  that. 

WILLY.  Den  why  he  vaits  'til  now?  Fer  all  his 
life  we  know  him. 

HERTHA.   He  had  a  sister  to  take  care  of. 

WILLY.  Hertha,  that's  nonsense !  (He  turns  to  go 
to  R.  door.) 

HERTHA.  Papa — please!  (He  turns  toward  her.) 
I've  never  asked  you  for  anything. 

WILLY.  Hertha.  I'm  shurprised  on  you.  (Points 
to  chair  R.  of  table)  Sit  down.  (She  does  so.)  Now, 
Hertha,  listen — (He  stands  R.  of  her  chair)  — I  do 
efferyding  a  fader  can  to  make  his  children  some- 
ding  in  de  world.  Und  jusht  now  w'en  your  broder 
begins  to  git  into  fine  society  you  tell  me  you  want 
to  marry  a  ordinary  workman — a  foreman  in  de 
factory — a  shoemaker ! 

HERTHA.    What  were  you? 

WILLY.    (Bursting)    Dot's  got  nodding  to  do  mit 


50  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

it!  You  shall  be  better  den  your  fader.  Dot's  w'at 
I  live  for.  What  chanst  has  Theodore  got  to  make 
a  decent  marriage  w'en  you  bring  home  someding 
like  dat — dat  Richard!  Och!  (He  crosses  to  L.  of 
table.) 

HERTHA.  He's  the  only  person  in  the  world  who's 
ever  thought  of  me. 

WILLY.  (Promptly  turning  on  her)  Und  de  firsht 
feller  dat  comes  along  you  take,  hah?  (Changing 
his  attack)  You  got  efferything  you  want,  haven't 
you? 

HERTHA.   Oh,  it  isn't  that. 

WILLY.    (Bluntly)    Well— what  is  it? 

HERTHA.    It — it's  no  use,  Papa.    I  can't  tell  you. 

WILLY.  (Shaking  his  head)  No,  you  got  righd 
to  be  ashamed.  I  neffer  heard  of  such  a  selfishness. 
(Sits  L.  of  table)  W'at  7  do?  Und  w'at  does  Theo 
dore  do  w'en  you ?  (Pause)  Or,  maybe,  you 

dink  you  can  bring  him  here  to  live  mit  us? 

HERTHA.   Oh,  no.   Won't  you  understand  ? 

WILLY.  (With  an  effort  at  control  again)  Now 
look,  Hertha.  I'm  quiet.  I  don'd  get  excited  now! 
But  I  tell  you  w'at  dat  Richard  tries  to  do.  He  dinks 
maybe,  if  he's  my  son-in-law,  I  do  someding  special 
extra  for  him  in  de  factory  mit  his  crazy  patents. 

und (HERTHA  makes  a  gesture  of  silence  and 

an  exclamation,  as  RICHARD  enters  R.  Pause.  He 
looks  inquiringly  from  HERTHA  to  WILLY.,) 

HERTHA.   Richard,  I've  told  my  father. 

WILLY.  (To  RICHARD,  gathering  himself)  Yah, 
my  daughter  jusht  tells  me  w'at  you  do  today. 

"RICHARD.   Yes.  Well?   (Pause.) 

HERTHA.    He  refuses  his  consent. 

WILLY.  (To  HERTHA,)  You  keep  quiet,  or  you  go 
upshtairs. 

THEODORE.  (Enters  L.C.)  Well,  Guv'nor,  we  made 
a  fine  beginning.  Hello !  (Looking  at  them  humor 
ously)  Where's  the  corpse  ? 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  51 

WILLY.  Theodore,  you  git  now  a  nice  shurprise. 
Your  sister  tells  me  jusht  now  dat  she  and  Richard — 
och 

THEODORE.    What?    (Pause)    No,  you're  joking. 

RICHARD.    I've  asked  your  sister  to  marry  me. 

THEODORE.  (With  quick  anger)  You (THEO 
DORE  starts  toward  RICHARD.,) 

WILLY.  (Quickly  coming  down  and  stopping 
THEODOREJ  Dere's  no  argiment  here.  I  refuse  my 
consent.  Dot's  finished. 

RICHARD.  (Quietly)  Then,  Hertha,  we  must  get 
along  without  your  family's  consent. 

WILLY.    (Amazed)    So! 

HERTHA.   Richard! 

WILLY.  Hertha,  go  to  your  room.  (Points  up 
stairs.) 

HERTHA.    (Her  first  disobedience)   No,  Father. 

WILLY.  So !   (Choking)  You  disobey  your  fader !  ? 

HERTHA.   (Surprised  at  herself)   Yes 

WILLY.  (Bursting  at  RICHARD,)  Dot's  w'at  he 
tells  you  to  do,  I  shuppose !  Anodder  one  of  his  new 
ideas!  You  two  togedder — you  begin  a  shtrike 
rightd  here  in  my  own  family !  (To  HERTHAJ  But, 
so  long  as  you  are  under  my  roof,  /  am  de  boss. 

RICHARD.   Then  I'll  take  her  under  mine. 

WILLY.  (Making  over  to  him  at  R.)  You  dink 
maybe  I  shtand  dat  nonsense !  I  know  you,  Richard 
— w'at  you  do.  But  not  one  tscent  to  Hertha  if  she 
marries  you. 

RICHARD.  I'll  manage  to  keep  a  roof  over  her 
head. 

THEODORE.   Over  your  own  head,  you  mean. 

WILLY.  Ha,  ha!  Dot's  it!  Well,  you  don'd  stay 
longer  in  dat  house !  (Points  off  L.)  I  kick  you  off 
dat  proberty.  Und  I  kick  you  oud  de  factory.  Und 
you  kin  peddle  your  crazy  patents  'til  you  find 
anodder  fool  like  me  to  buy  dem.  Now  I'm  throu* 


52  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

mit  it !  (He  goes  up  R.  and  stands  with  his  back  to 
them.) 

HERTHA.  Papa,  you  can't  do  that !  (WILLY  makes 
no  move.  She  turns  to  THEODORE,)  Theodore,  don't 
let  him  do  this  heartless  thing ! 

THEODORE.    Father's  right. 

HERTHA.  Theodore,  it's  for  your  sake  he's  doing 
this! 

THEODORE.  No.  It's  because  you  won't  open  your 
eyes  and  see  what  Richard's  after. 

HERTHA.  Papa,  Theodore  can't  help  it.  It's  our 
fault.  We've  made  him  selfish.  But  you,  Papa — 
don't  kill  the  love  I've  had  for  you  all  these  years. 

WILLY.  Schtill !  I  told  you  w'at  I  dink  of  him.  I 
don'd  want  dat  kind  of  feller  hanging  around! 

HERTHA.  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you. 
Richard  was  good  enough  to  make  inventions  for 
you — patents  that  you  bought  up — not  to  help  him, 
but  to  hold  him  down ! 

WILLY.   You  say  dose  things  to  me?! 

BERTHA.  I  heard  you  say  so  just  this  afternoon. 
You've  taken  his  devotion,  his  loyalty,  and  given 
him  nothing  in  return !  But  I  won't  let  you  do  that 
any  more. 

WILLY.  I  told  you  I  was  through  mit  him — you — 

HERTHA.  Yes,  and  I — I  too  worked  for  you!  I 
gave  my  youth  to  both  of  you — yes,  my  youth — 
just  as  Richard  gave  his.  Until  he  spoke  today  I 
never  knew  what  I  had  missed.  And,  then,  I  saw 
what  you've  been  doing  all  these  years  with  me  and 
him.  You've  taken  everything  from  both  of  us.  And 
what  is  our  reward?  Your  dreadful  selfishness! 
We're  good  enough  when  we  can  serve  you,  but  when 
we  want  to  take  the  happiness  that  we  have  earned 
you'd  like  to  stop  us 

WILLY.  Hertha,  you're  my  daughter.  You  obey 
me !  Go  upstairs  to  your  room ! 


ACT  i  OUR  CHILDREN  53 

HERTHA.  Papa,  you  can't  see  that  I've  grown  up. 
If  you  drive  Richard  out,  you'll  lose  me,  too ! 

WILLY.    (Terribly)    Hertha — you 

HERTHA.  (Continuing)  You'll  try  to  stop  me, 
but  you  can't ! 

WILLY.  What ?! 

HERTHA.  If  you  turn  Richard  out,  I'll  go  with 
him  now!! 

WILLY.  (In  towering  rage)  I  got  enough  now ! ! 
I'll  take  you  to  your  room ! !  (He  takes  her  by  the 
arm  and  draws  her  toward  the  stairs.  HERTHA  re 
sisting  him,  falls  on  her  knees.) 

RICHARD.  (Quietly  to  WILLY,)  Stop  that.  (He 
takes  WILLY  by  the  left  hand,  releasing  HERTHA, 
who  remains  on  her  knees.  As  WILLY  feels  RICH 
ARD'S  hand  on  his,  he  raises  his  right  hand  to  strike 
RICHARD.  HERTHA  screams:  "Papa!  Don't!" 
RICHARD  then  catches  the  old  man  by  his  raised  right 
arm,  and  with  his  greater  strength,  without  a  word, 
puts  down  the  old  man's  hands.  WILLY  crumples 
and  stands  in  dazed  humiliation.  RICHARD  then  lifts 
HERTHA  from  the  floor,  saying:  "Come,  Hertha/') 

WILLY.  (Struggling  for  command)  She  stays 
here!  (WARN  Curtain.) 

RICHARD.    She  goes  with  me. 

WILLY.  If  Hertha  goes  mit  you,  I'm  finished  mit 
you  both ! 

RICHARD.  That's  all  right.  I've  tried  my  best  to 
serve  you  as  long  as  you  would  let  me.  I  bear  you 
no  bitterness  in  business.  It's  the  new  and  the  old 
at  war.  But  I'm  going  to  marry  Hertha.  You'll 
want  her  back,  but  I  swear  by  my  dead  father,  I'll 
have  to  see  you  on  your  knees  to  me,  as  she  has  been 
to  you  this  day,  before  I'll  let  her  come.  (He  crosses 
up  L.  ;  then  turns)  Hertha 

WILLY.  Hertha,  you  will  do  w'at  /  tell  you.  (HER 
THA,  standing  between  RICHARD  and  WILLY,  pauses 
a  moment,  looking  from  one  to  the  other;  then  turns 


54  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTI 

to  RICHARD,  as  if  impelled  by  something  stronger 
than  herself.  HERTHA  puts  her  hand  in  his.  To 
gether  they  exit  L.C.  WILLY  is  amazed  beyond  an 
ger.  He  cannot  believe  it  possible.  He  turns,  stunned 
and  speechless,  toward  THEODORE,  but  THEODORE 
betrays  no  sense  of  responsibility.  The  DOOR  off 
L.C.  is  heard  to  close.  The  noise  of  the  closing  door 
jars  WILLY  into  a  sense  of  what  has  occurred.  He 
pulls  himself  together)  Theodore — go  after  Hertha. 
Give  her  dis  from  me (He  whips  out  the  bank 
book  from  his  back  pocket  and  gives  it  to  THEODORE.} 

THEODORE.  But,  Dad,  are  you  going  to  pay  Hertha 
for  leaving  you? 

WILLY.  (Grimly)  If  she  marries  him,  she'll  need 
it. 

THEODORE.   But 

WILLY.  (Savagely  interrupting)  Go  ahead,  Theo 
dore  !  Dat  belongs  to  her  by  righds !  Und  righd  is 
righd!  (THEODORE  runs  out  L.C.,  leaving  WILLY 
alone  on  the  stage  as  the  Curtain  descends.) 

CURTAIN 


ACT  TWO 

SCENE:  The  scene  presents  the  same  room  two 
years  later.  It  looks  very  shabby.  The  curtains 
are  worn.  The  room  is  disordered.  A  globe  is 
off  the  electric  light  at  the  side.  One  of  the 
lights  in  chandelier  has  burnt  out.  An  old  dark 
tablecloth  has  supplanted  the  doilies  on  the  ta 
ble,  etc.;  and  many  little  indications  in  the  ar 
rangement  and  general  menage  of  the  room 
point  to  the  absence  of  HERTHA'S  directing 
hand.  The  doors  of  arch  L.C.  are  closed. 

WILLY  is  discovered  sitting  L.  of  table  c.  un- 
dc.r  the  electric  light  with  a  cup  of  coffee  before 
him.  He  sits  in  his  old  big  chair. 

It  is  about  7 :45  in  the  evening.  WILLY  is  in 
his  shirt-sleeves,  smoking  his  pipe.  His  coat 
hangs  on  the  back  of  his  chair.  His  eyes  are 
evidently  poor,  as  he  holds  things  very  near  to 
himself  when  reading.  He  has  aged  a  bit  and 
looks  harassed.  During  the  progress  of  the 
Act,  he  pendulates  between  hysterical  hope  and 
blank  despair.  Everything  indicates  a  sharp  de 
cline  in  the  ENGEL  fortunes.  WILLY  reads  over 
some  opened  letters;  shakes  his  head  ruefully; 
draws  a  long  breath  and  calls  out 

^  WILLY.  (As  if  he  had  called  her  before)  Well, 
Sophy!  (Pause)  Sophy!  (She  enters  R.  with  a 
coffee-pot.  SOPHY  is  dressed,  not  as  in  Act  I,  but 

55 


56  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

far  more  carelessly.  She  wears  carpet  slippers,  an 
old  skirt,  sleeves  rolled  up  and  a  cloth  on  her  head.) 
Why  don'd  you  come  when  I  call? 

SOPHY.  Jusht  w'en  I  tell  dat  grocery  man  you 
ain'd  at  home,  you  yell  so  de  whole  neighborhood 
can  hear  you.  (She  gives  him  a  bill.) 

WILLY.  (Dejected)  Sophy,  don'd  bring  me  no 
more  bills.  (Pointing  to  table  and  letters.) 

SOPHY.  You  should  eat  someding  before  you  look 
at  bills.  (Pours  coffee.) 

WILLY.  Ach,  I  got  no  appedite  to  eat  alone. 
(Opens  grocer's  bill.) 

SOPHY.  (With  an  injured  tone)  Und  de  roof 
leaks  again  in  my  room. 

WILLY.  (Irritated)  Dere's  twelf  empdy  betrooms 
upshtairs.  Schleep  in  all  of  dem!  (Looking  at  the 
bill)  A  hundred-twendy  dollars!  Mein  Gott!  De 
bills  was  neffer  so  big  w'en  Hertha  was  here! 
(SOPHY  sighs.)  Who  eats  all  dat  shtuff? 

SOPHY.  Dot's  four  mont's,  like  all  de  resht.  (In 
jured)  I  don't  eat  noddink.  (Tearfully)  I  git  no 
wages  now  fer  six  mont's,  Mr.  Engel.  Und  w'en  you 
dink  dot's  nice  fer  me,  mit  de  butcher,  und  de 
baker,  und  all  dem  peeble  ashkin'  w'at's  de  matter, 
you  got  me  wrong,  Mr.  Engel !  (Weeps.) 

WILLY.    Dot's  enough.    Don'd  you  begin  again. 

SOPHY.  (Continuing  tearfully)  I  shave  und 
schkrimp  on  effery  tscent,  and  den  w'en  Mr.  Theo 
dore  comes  up  von  Boston  mit  his  crowd,  he  orders 
dose  dings. 

WILLY.  (Impatiently)  Nah,  nah.  Dot's  business 
undertainment. 

SOPHY.  (Repeating  scornfully)  Dot's  business 
undertainment,  hah  ?  Yah,  we  got  plendy  champagne 
in  de  cellar,  but  no  ice  in  de  icebox. 

WILLY.   My  Theodore  soon  makes  lots  of  money. 

SOPHY.    (With  a  snivel)    I  don'd  schtop  him! 

WILLY.   Yah,  und  jusht  now,  dot's  a  bad  market. 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  57 

SOPHY.  If  de  market's  got  all  cushtimers  like  we 
are,  it's  no  wonder  it's  bad.  (The  PHONE  rings  on 
desk  up  L.  WILLY  makes  an  Impatient  gesture. 
Pause,  as  they  look  at  each  other  suspensively. 
SOPHY  asks)  Soil  ich? 

WILLY.   Yah,  geh  mal  hin. 

SOPHY.  (Taking  up  receiver  gingerly)  Hallo — 
yes ?  No.  Mr.  Engel  is  oud  of  town  on  busi 
ness.  (A  look  between  them.  WILLY  nods.)  Who 
is  it?  (Her  face  becomes  shrewd  and  alert)  Oh, 
wait  a  minute.  I  git  pencil  und  paber.  (She  puts 
the  receiver  upon  her  stomach;  motions  WILLY  to 
come  to  her.  He  does  so.  She  says  secretively)  It's 
dat  mortgage  combany  again.  ( WILLY  hastily  puts 
his  hand  on  the  receiver  which  she  has  in  her  right 
hand  and  looks  at  her  savagely.)  Was  ist  den? 

WILLY.   Dey  hear  you ! 

SOPHY.   Och 

WILLY.  Tell  'em  I  get  down  to  der  office  mit  some 
money  tomorrer  morning  shure.  (She  starts  to 
speak.)  Wait!  Firsht  hear  w'at  dey  say. 

SOPHY.  (Speaks  to  receiver)  Hallo — Yah — Now 
I  write  it  down.  (WILLY  draws  nearer.  She  repeats 
as  if  writing  down  the  message)  De  mortgage  is 
overdone — Yah,  yah,  ich  versteh — I  undershtand — 
overdue — yah.  If  dot's  not  paid  tomorrer,  we  musht 
take — (Quickly)  — take  what?  (Relieved)  Action 
— Oh,  yah,  action  to  foreclose — Yah 

WILLY.    (Nervously J    Say,  w'at  I  told  you ! 

SOPHY.  (Repeating  into  the  receiver)  "Say  what 
I  told  you." 

WILLY.   Psch  !  No,  no !   Sophy,  w'at  you  do ! 

SOPHY.  (Confused  by  trying  to  listen  to  both 
WILLY  and  receiver)  Hallo! — Yah — Hah — Wait! 

WILLY.    (Exasperated)    De  money  w'at  I  bring! 

SOPHY.  (Putting  receiver  on  her  stomach)  Psch ! ! 
(Business  ad  lib.  She  glares  menacingly  at  WILLY. 
WILLY  motions  to  phone.)  Hallo — Yah,  Mr.  Engel 


58  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

leaves  word — I  shud  say  dat  he  is  dere  tomorrer 
morning  mit  some  money. 

WILLY.   Shure! 

SOPHY.    (Repeating  again  into  phone)    "Shure!" 

WILLY.    Dot's  enough! 

SOPHY.    (Repeating  to  phone)    "Dot's  enough!" 

WILLY.  (Wildly  anxious)  Mem  Gott,  Sophy, 
you ! 

SOPHY.  (Kicking  him  azvay)  Geh  doch  weg!! 
(WILLY  retreats  up  R.  She  continues)  Yah,  you 
know  he's  got  schtrikes  und  troubles  in  de  factory. 
Yah — (Puts  down  receiver  and  says  to  it  after  she 
has  rung  off)  — goodbye !  Gott  sei  dank !  ( Puts  her 
hands  to  her  ears  and  comes  to  L.  of  table.) 

WILLY.   Git  Carter  right  away. 

SOPHY.  (After  a  look  of  misery)  Schon  wieder 
a  mal? 

WILLY.  (Walking  up  and  down)  Yah,  quick! 
(WILLY  continues  walking  nervously  as  SOPHY  goes 
again  to  the  phone,  which  she  takes  up  as  if  it  were 
a  snake.) 

SOPHY.  (Ringing  up)  Hallo — Tscentral — Hallo? 
Gif  me  one — two — six — Chestnuts! — Yah. 

WILLY.   Carter  waits. 

SOPHY.  Hallo?  Dat's  you,  Mr.  Carter? — Hold  de 
wire,  please. 

WILLY.  It's  him,  hah?  (SOPHY  nods;  gives  him 
the  receiver.  She  listens  at  the  table.)  Hallo,  Car 
ter? — Yah — Carter,  listen — You  got  dat  contract  fer 
de  kennels  proberty  ? — W' at !  Signed !  ? — Well,  make 
him  sign  it  tonight — Listen,  Carter — Listen,  git  as 
much  down  as  you  can !  I  need  it  quick — But  take 
anyding — Yah,  yah — I  sign  dat  deed  tomorrer — 
You  bring  dat  money  righd  up  here  tonighd — Yah, 
yah,  dose  bloodsuckers  won'd  wait  no  more  fer  dat 
interest  on  de  mortgage — W'at  ? — Hutchinson  comes 
in  now! — All  righd — Goodbye!  (He  hangs  up  ex- 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  59 

citedly,  and  says  to  SOPHY,)    De  agent  jusht  comes 
in  to  Carter. 

SOPHY.  (Pointing  to  the  bills)  Wat  we  do  mit 
dese?  (DOOR  off  L.C.  heard  dosing.) 

WILLY.  (Quickly)  Pst!  Dot's  Theodore.  (He 
waves  her  off  to  pantry)  Don'd  say  anyding  aboud 
de  mortgage  on  de  house. 

SOPHY.  (Taking  coffee  pot  off  R .)  Ich  sag  yah  gar- 
nichts. 

WILLY.  Schon  gut.  (He  follows  her  down  to  R. 
exit.  After  SOPHY  is  off  he  turns  as  THEODORE  en 
ters  L.C.  THEODORE  is  pale  and  dissipated-looking.) 
Well,  Theodore,  w'at's  de  news? 

THEODORE.  (He  picks  up  some  mail  left  on  desk; 
opens  a  letter  during  this  scene  and  reads  it,  as  he 
goes  quickly  and  nervously  across  front  of  stage 
and  dozvn  R .)  Good. 

WILLY.   Ah! 

THEODORE.   The  market's  hit  rock  bottom. 

WILLY.    So! 

THEODORE.  Yes.  We  know  we  can't  lose  any 
more. 

WILLY.  (Quickly)  I  t'ought  you  don'd  speckilate? 

THEODORE.  Leland's  gone  in  a  little  on  his  own. 
(WiLLY  looks  sharply  at  him.)  That's  nothing  to  do 
with  the  firm. 

WILLY.  Yah.  A  broker  shouldn't  speckilate. 
Dot's  a  bad  business. 

THEODORE.  Say,  Guv'nor,  if  I  had  about  three 
thousand,  now's  the  time  to  buy. 

WILLY.  I  got  no  money.  Richard  und  dat  Labor 
Pardy  mit  de  fancy  laws — dot  fixed  me.  (Trembling 
with  emotion)  Und  Theodore,  jusht  dink  on  it! 
My  men — my  men  oud  on  schtrike! 

THEODORE.  (Impatiently)  I  know — I  know! 
(Swings  down  R.  and  begins  to  calculate  on  back  of 
envelope  of  letter.) 

WILLY.   (Sitting  in  his  big  chair)   I  can'd  git  over 


60  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

it.  Some  dat  I  hat  mit  me  fer  over  twendy  years 
und  neffer  laid  dem  off.  My  men  dot  I  worked  und 
worried  for!  I  couldn't  be  more  shurprised  if  you 
went  back  on  me ! 

THEODORE.  (Nervously)  I'd  rather  have  my  bus 
iness.  It's  dog  eat  dog.  There's  no  sentiment  about 
it,  and  you  know  it ! 

WILLY.  Dey  didn't  want  to  go — dey  hat  to! 
Richard  und  dat  Labor  Pardy  makes  it  dot  they  hat 
to  choin  de  union!  Und  w'en  dot  union  called  de 
schtrike  de  old  fellers  dey  cried  w'en  dey  went  oud. 
Dot  broke  my  heart.  Dey  knew  dey  always  had  it 
goot  mit  me.  Dey  seyd  so.  I  lose  money  often.  Dat's 
bad  enough,  but  we  git  over  dat.  But  my  workmen 

— my  workmen (In  a  rage)  Und  Richard  does 

dat !  Yah,  Richard !  Und,  beshides,  de  odder  fellers 
git  Richard's  new  machine!  Yah,  all  his  crazy  pat 
ents,  /  buy!  I  shupport  him  'til  he  makes  dot  last 
patent — de  real  one,  und  den  he  sells  it  to  my  com- 
peditors  !  Yah,  dot's  my  gratitude !  (Drinks  coffee.) 

THEODORE.  (As  if  with  a  new  idea)  Guv'nor,  you 
put  a  mortgage  on  this  house. 

WILLY.    (Guiltily,  startled)    W'at! 

THEODORE.  (Eagerly)  You  can  easily  raise  sev 
eral  thousand. 

WILLY.  Theodore,  why  not  sell  de  house  ?  I  don'd 
want  it.  I'm  here  alone  mit  Sophy. 

THEODORE.   Why,  no ! 

WILLY.  Yah,  we  was  happier  in  de  old  blace,  and 
we  didn't  know  it.  (Sips  coffee.) 

THEODORE.  Selling  takes  time,  and  you  can  raise 
a  mortgage  right  away. 

WILLY.  (After  a  pause)  Theodore,  we  can'd  put 
a  mortgage  on  de  house. 

THEODORE.  Why  not  ?  Now  don't  refuse  me.  I'm 
in  terribly  bad. 

WILLY.  I  raised  effery  tscent  I  could  on  it  al 
ready. 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  61 

THEODORE.  (Angrily)  What!  You've  already 
mortgaged  the  house? 

WILLY.  (Nodding)  Und  now  I  got  to  sell  de 
kennels  property  to  pay  de  interest,  elset  dey  fore 
close  on  me  tomorrer. 

THEODORE.  (Enraged)  What  have  you  done  with 
the  money? 

WILLY.  I  gif  mosht  of  it  to  you,  fer  your  busi 
ness,  und — (Significantly)  — odder  dings.  (THEO 
DORE  swings  down  L.  again.)  Yah,  Theodore,  you 
don'd  save  me  nodding. 

THEODORE.  (Accusingly)  They  why  did  you  raise 
me  with  the  idea  that  I  could  have  all  I  needed? 

WILLY.  I  didn't  dink  you  need  so  much.  I'm  sor 
ry,  Theodore,  but  can'd  you  hold  back  a  liddle  while  ? 
Look  at  dose  bills.  Dey're  moshtly  yours. 

THEODORE.  If  you  wanted  me  to  be  a  tightwad, 
why  did  you  try  to  make  a  gentleman  of  me?  Why 
didn't  you  make  me  a  shoemaker,  and  be  done  with 
it?  ( WILLY  drops  his  cup.)  What's  the  matter? 

WILLY.  (Hiding  his  tears)  Someding  gits  now 
in  my  eye. 

THEODORE.  (Comes  behind  table;  leans  over 
WILLY,  contritely)  Dad,  I'm  sorry  I  said  that.  I 
got  excited.  (WILLY  pats  THEODORE'S  hand  zvhich 
is  resting  on  WILLY'S  arm.  Pause.  He  turns  again) 
Have  you  spent  all  the  mortgage  money  ? 

WILLY.  How  you  dink  we  live  fer  dis  whole 
year? 

THEODORE.  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
the  factory? 

WILLY.  I  went  twice  today  to  see  Hutton  at  de 
bank. 

THEODORE.    (Alarmed)    What  did  he  say? 

WILLY.    (Grimly)    Nodding.    He  wasn't  dere. 

THEODORE.  (Relieved)  You  keep  away  from  him 
until — well,  I  don't  want  anyone  to  know  the  real 
truth  about  things  for  a  day  or  two,  that's  all. 


62  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

WILLY.    Wat  you  do  now,  Theodore? 

THEODORE.    I'm  going  to  marry  Harriet  Hutton. 

WILLY.  W'at! 

THEODORE.  Then  old  Hutton  can't  force  you  to 
the  wall. 

WILLY.  But,  for  my  sake,  Theodore,  I  don'd  vant 
that  you — und  so  all  of  a  sudden — so  mitoud  love — 
you — ach,  no !  (Shakes  his  head.) 

THEODORE.    I  love  her  well  enough  to  marry  her. 

WILLY.    But  if  old  Hutton  don'd  consent? 

THEODORE.  After  we're  married  what  can  he  do 
about  it? 

WILLY.   She  agrees  to  dat  ? 

THEODORE.   She'll  stand  by  me. 

WILLY.  My  boy — my  boy!  Den  dat's  all  righd. 
She  loves  you ! 

THEODORE.  (Practically)  You  keep  quiet  about 
money,  until  after  we're  safely  married.  And  then 
our  troubles  will  be  over. 

WILLY.  Och,  Theodore,  she's  a  fine  girl,  und  she 
gets  a  fine  feller.  Anyways,  I'm  glat  of  effery  tscent 
I  shpend  on  you.  Yah,  she  wouldn't  take  you,  if 
you  was  a  shoemaker !  (BELL  rings.) 

THEODORE.  Who's  that?  (Enter  SOPHY  R.  She 
crosses  and  exits  L.C.,  drying  her  hands  on  her 
apron.) 

WILLY.  Sophy  is  careful.  I  teached  her.  Maybe 
Carter  comes  now  mit  de  contract. 

SOPHY.  (Re-entering  L.C.)  Mr.  Scheible  comes. 
( SOPHY  exits  R.j 

THEODORE.   Perhaps  he'll  stake  you? 

WILLY.  Nix.  If  he  could  lent  me  any  more,  1 
wouldn't  have  to  ask  him. 

THEODORE.  Call  me,  if  Harriet  phones.  (Exits 
upstairs.  Slight  pause.  STASI  appears  L.C. ) 

WILLY.    Hallo,  Stasi.    Come  in. 

STASI.  Hallo,  Willy.  Wie  gehts?  (STASI  puts  his 
hat  on  desk  up  L.,  then  turns  and  meets  WILLY,  who 
crosses  to  him  at  L.) 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  63 

WILLY.  Ganz  gut.  You  soon  git  news — great 
news. 

STASI.   Good !  Tell  me. 

WILLY.  I  always  seyd,  so  lonk  I  got  my  Theodore, 
it  all  comes  righd. 

STASI.    Fine.   But  what's  de  news? 

WILLY.  (Remembering  that  he  is  not  to  tell  of 
the  engagement)  Oh,  ah !  Carter  makes  a  contract 
fer  de  kennels  proberdy. 

STASI.  Well,  I'm  glad  that  you  get  rid  of  it.  You 
know  I  never  wanted  you  to  take  dat  property, 
anyhow. 

WILLY.  We  don'd  begin  on  dat,  please. 

STASI.  All  right.  (With  his  characteristic  ges 
ture.) 

WILLY.    (Likewise)   All  right.    (They  sit.) 

STASI.  (Promptly  beginning)  I  don't  say  any 
thing  more  about  it,  but  who  buys  that  property? 

WILLY.  I  don'd  know.  I  dink  dot  Hutchinson 
buys  it  fer  himself  on  speckilation. 

STASI.    That's  nonsense!   Why  should  he  buy  it? 

WILLY.  I  don'd  know  why  he  should  buy  it !  Ashk 
him! 

STASI.  Ach  !  So  long  you  get  your  money,  I  don't 
care. 

WILLY.   Yah,  I  kin  use  it. 

STASI.  (Pause.  STASI  shakes  his  head,  rising) 
WTell,  I  git  my  pipe.  (Goes  to  sideboard  drawer) 
I  thought  I  smoke  a  little  while  with  you,  'til  Rosie 
calls  for  me. 

WILLY.  (Gets  tobacco  jar  from  serving  table) 
You  don'd  shtay  mit  me? 

STASI.  No,  we  go  tonight  to  see  a  picture.  (WiL- 
LY  opens  the  tobacco  jar  and  pushes  it  towards 
STASI.  STASI  rises;  puts  his  hand  into  the  jar  and 
recoils  as  he  feels  the  potato  in  it.  STASI  takes  out 
the  potato,  shows  it  angrily  to  WILLY  and  puts  it 
down  on  the  table;  then  fills  his  pipe.  WILLY  takes 


64  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

up  the  potato,  jams  it  back  into  the  jar  and  slams 
on  the  top.  They  BOTH  turn  away  from  each  other; 
then  simultaneously  turn  back.  EACH  makes  his  char 
acteristic  "All  right''  gesture  and  sits.  WILLY  lights 
his  match  on  the  match-holder.  STASI  lights  his 
match  on  his  shoe.  They  light  their  pipes.) 

STASI.  Say,  Willy,  I  want  to  ask  you  something. 
I  heard  in  Boston  yesterday  that  Leland  is  gam 
bling — that  he  buys  those  margins  again. 

WILLY.  (With  finality)  Leland  is  my  Theodore's 
partner.  Dot  seddles  it. 

STASI.  That's  just  the  trouble.  That  don't  settle 
it.  You  got  to  settle  it  again,  because  he's  Theodore's 
partner ! 

WILLY.  Don't  make  me  laugh!  I  can't  seddle 
noddink. 

STASI.  Then  get  rid  of  him  for  Theodore's  sake. 
(Imploringly)  Willy,  I  know  that  he's  a  crook.  He 
took  your  Theodore  for  a  partner  just  to  get  credit 
with  your  money!  Stop  him  now,  before  he  goes 
too  far! 

WILLY.  Stasi — Stasi — don'd  arg'  no  more  aboud 
it! 

STASI.  (Continuing)  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  you 
know,  down  in  your  heart,  you  know  that  I  am 
right. 

WILLY.  (With  conviction)  Down  in  my  heart  I 
know  my  Theodore  is  righd ! 

STASI.  (Throwing  up  his  hands)  What's  the  use 
I  talk ! 

WILLY.   It's  no  use. 

STASI.  Just  like  my  Rosie.  No  matter  what 
Theodore  does,  she  always  finds  excuses  for  him. 
He's  always  right. 

WILLY.   Yah,  Rosie.    She  knows  better  as  you. 

STASI.  (After  a  long  puff)  I  guess  the  women 
always  do. 

WILLY.   No !   Not  always. 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  65 

STASI.  Yah,  Willy,  always.  I'm  an  old  bachelor, 
und  day  after  day  I  see  how  much  the  women  know 
and  help  the  men.  I  got  nothing  to  complain  of. 
But  my  life  would  have  been  very  different  if  the 
girl  I  wanted  to  marry  long  ago  had  wanted  me. 

WILLY.  Und  yet  you  dink  de  women  ish  always 
righd. 

STASI.  (Tenderly)  Yah,  Willy.  Behind  every 
man  that  makes  success,  there  is  a  good  woman 
some  place.  The  man  has  the  strength  to  work  out 
in  the  world,  but  the  woman  has  the  principles.  He 
earns;  she  saves.  He  zvorks.  She  watches  over  him. 
We  think  we  do  it  all.  But,  Willy,  it's  the  woman 
that  guides  the  man.  Even  me,  my  little  Rosie.  Hm. 
She's  just  like  a  little  mother  to  me.  You  had  your 
Matilda. 

WILLY.  (Remenlscently)  Matilda  died  before  I 
hat  a  dollar.  But  I  owe  efferyding  to  her.  She  made 
me  shart  oud  f er  myself. 

STASI.   Und  then  you  had  your  Hertha. 

WILLY.   (Shutting  him  off)   Blease,  Stasi 

STASI.  So  long  she  was  with  you,  things  went 
good.  Und  look  now  what  she  does  for  Richard. 
He  runs  the  biggest  factory  in  Concord. 

WILLY.   W'at  for  you  speak  of  him? 

STASI.   I  speak  of  Hertha,  Willy. 

WILLY.  Und  I  don'd  vant  to  hear  of  him. 

STASI.    (Quietly)   All  right ! 

WILLY.  All  right !  (They  subside  over  their  pipes. 
WILLY  goes  over  behind  STASI.  He  touches  him  on 
the  shoulder)  Say,  Stasi,  why  all  of  a  sutten  you 
shpeak  of  women,  Stasi? 

STASI.  Because  I'm  thinking,  when  Theodore  gets 
married  and  settles  down,  things  will  be  different 
with  him.  A  good  wife  will  make  a  steady  man  of 
him. 

WILLY.  Well,  I  dink  he's  goink  to  marry  soon. 
We  talked  about  it  jusht  tonighd. 


66  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  n 

STASI.  Und  Rosie,  she  will  keep  him  straight  and 
save  his  money. 

WILLY.   Rosie ? 

STASI.  (With  a  smile)  Yah,  she  will  tell  him  how 
to  run  his  business.  What  you  can't  do  and  /  can't 
do,  she'll  do.  (Pause  of  embarrassment  for  WILLY.J 

WILLY.    Mein  Gott,  Stasi — Och — it's — well — I — 

STASI.   What's  the  matter  with  you  ? 

WILLY.   I  don'd  know  how  to  tell  you. 

STASI.   What? 

WILLY.    Dere's  a  terrible  mishtake  someblace. 

STASI.   Mistake? 

WILLY.  Lishten,  Stasi.  W'at  gifs  you  de  idea  my 
Theodore  marries  Rosie? 

SOPHY.  (Quizzically)  Nu,  Willy — what  gives  me 
the  idea !  ? 

WILLY.   Yah 

STASI.  (Seriously)  Willy,  that's  one  thing  I  don't 
joke  about. 

WILLY.   Neither  do  I.  I  don'd  choke. 

STASI.  Say,  wait  a  minute — what  you  mean?  That 
Theodore  marries  someone  else  after — ? 

WILLY.  My  Theodore  soon  marries  Harriet  Hut- 
ton. 

STASI.   What!? 

WILLY.  Dot's  de  great  news.  Und  now  you  know 
it. 

STASI.   Willy,  I  don't  believe  you. 

WILLY.    (Tenderly)    Stasi,  you  dink  I  lie  to  you? 

STASI.  (Repeating  to  assure  himself)  You  tell  me 
Theodore  marries  Harriet  Huttonf 

WILLY.   Dey  were  engadjed  dis  afternoon. 

STASI.  My  poor  Rosie!  My  poor  little  Rosie! 
Mein  Gott !  That  will  break  her  heart !  (Turning 
accusingly)  Und  you — you  knew  I? 

WILLY.  I  gif  you  my  word,  I  didn't  know  a  ding 
aboud  it  Jtil  tonighd. 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  67 

STASI.  But  don't  you  see,  Willy.  That's  a  ter 
rible  thing? 

WILLY.    (Helplessly)   W'at  kin  I  do? 

STASI.  And  with  all  my  experience  of  the  world, 
I  couldn't  save  my  little  Rosie  from  this.  (He  rises) 
Oh,  I  was  wrong !  I  knew !  I  should  have  said  "no" 
right  from  the  beginning  and  shtuck  to  it !  I 
shouldn't  have  allowed  my  Rosie  to  put  her  trust  in 
Theodore,  no  matter  what  he  said ! 

WILLY.  (Going  to  STASIJ  Stasi — Stasi — we're 
old  fellers.  We  can't  manach  de  younk  peeble  dese 
days.  I'm  awful  sorry  if  Rosie  thought 

STASI.    (Turning  on  him)    You  blind  fool ! ! 

WILLY.   What!! 

STASI.  I  say  now  what  I  think!  Where's  Theo 
dore? 

WILLY.  What  you  want  mit  him? 

STASI.  You  call  him  down,  or  else  I  call  him  down. 
(Scornfully)  Maybe  he's  afraid  to  come? 

WILLY.    (Likewise)   Afraid  for  you? 

STASI.  We  see! 

WILLY.    (Defiantly)   All  right ! 

STASI.  (Likewise)  All  right!  (Moves  down  L. 
and  gathers  himself.) 

W'ILLY.  (Goes  to  stairs  and  calls  loudly)  Theo 
dore  !  (Then  with  a  change  to  mildness)  Theodore — 

THEODORE.    (Upstairs)   Yes. 

WILLY.    Come  down  here. 

ROSIE.    (Enters  R.)    Good  evening,  Uncle  Willy. 

WILLY.    (Very  tenderly)    Hallo,  Rosie — Och 

ROSIE.  (Smiling)  Oh,  are  you  and  Uncle  Stasi 
quarreling  again? 

STASI.   Rosie,  sit  down. 

ROSIE.  (As  STASI  puts  her  in  chair  down  L.)  But 
it's  time  that  we  were  going. 

THEODORE.  (Entering  excitedly  downstairs)  Is 
Harriet  on  the  wire?  (Seeing  them)  Oh,  excuse 
me !  (He  starts  to  go  off  again.) 


68  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

STASI.    We  excuse  you  in  a  minute. 

WILLY.  Come  in,  Theodore.  We  musht  ask  you 
someding. 

THEODORE.  What's  the  matter? 

STASI.  (To  THEODORE,  commandingly)  Come 
here! 

THEODORE.  Hello,  Rosie.  Why (Moves  to 
ward  her.) 

STASI.    (Savagely)   You  keep  away  from  her! 

ROSIE.  (Rises,  anxiously)  Why,  Uncle  Stasi, 
what  has  happened? 

STASI.  (Tenderly  but  firmly)  Sit  down.  You  do 
now  what  /  tell  you,  please. 

ROSIE.  But 

STASI.  Shtill ! !  (He  puts  her  again  in  chair  down 
L.  To  THEODORE  J  You  may  remember,  Theodore, 
that  for  years  now,  you  have  made  love  to  my  Rosie. 
(A  start  from  WILLY.)  Oh,  I  didn't  want  it !  Last 
year  you  promised  her  to  marry  her.  I  liked  that 
even  less. 

THEODORE.   That's  between  Rosie  and  me. 

STASI.    No!    That's  my  reshponsibility  now. 

ROSIE.   (Hysterically)  Uncle  Stasi,  take  me  home ! 

STASI.    (Peremptorilly)    Shtill ! 

WILLY.  (Solemnly)  Theodore,  tell  me  the  truth. 
Righd  is  righd.  Did  you? 

THEODORE.  (In  perplexity)  Why,  I  don't  con 
sider  that  promise  seriously — we ( ROSIE  sinks 

into  the  chair  and  buries  her  face  in  her  hands.) 
That  was  just  a  boy  and  girl  affair. 

STASI.  (Relieved  but  passionately)  Ah!  That's 
exactly  what  I  always  told  her !  (Turns  pitifully  to 
ROSIE)  But  she  don't  believe  me !  (Again  severely, 
turning  to  THEODOREJ  So  I  bring  you  down  that 
you  shall  tell  her  that  with  your  own  lips!  (Goes 
tenderly  to  ROSIE  j  I  hope  my  Rosie  now  will  see 
how  foolish  it  is  for  her  to  eat  her  heart  out.  (To 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  69 

THEODORE,)  On  account  of  such  a  damn  loafer  as 
you  are! 

WILLY.  (Immediately  defensive)  Stasi!  You 
can'd  say  such  dings  aboud  my  Theodore ! 

STASI.  (Turning  on  WILLYJ  Then  I  speak  of 
you!  Because,  Willy,  you're  to  blame.  You  made 
him  what  he  is.  (Scornfully)  A  chentleman  I  Be 
cause  of  him  you  make  a  break  with  Richard.  I 
told  you  then  that  you  should  shpend  your  money 
on  Richard's  new  ideas,  and  not  on  Theodore's!  I 
told  you,  Theodore  takes  your  money  and  makes  a 
beggar  out  of  you,  and  of  himself  he  makes  a  loafer ! 
But,  thank  Gott!  He  don'd  make  no  more  a  fool 
of  my  Rosie! 

ROSIE.    (Rising)    No !   I'm  to  blame  for  this. 

STASI.   What? 

ROSIE.  Yes.  (She  goes  to  THEODORE  J  Theodore, 
I  was  wrong  to  think  you  were  in  earnest,  when 
you — —  And  maybe  I  boasted  a  little  to  the  other 
girls  whenever  you  took  me  out  in  your  big  auto 
mobile.  And  if  people  didn't  think  we  had  some 
kind  of  understanding,  I  couldn't  have  gone  with 
you  so  often.  You  see,  I'm  quite  grown  up  now — 

and  so  are  you — and  people (She  tries  to  laugh, 

but  it  is  almost  a  sob)  But  I  want  you  not  to  think 
about  me  any  more.  I've  not  been  very  well.  And 
Uncle  Stasi  thought  I  was  grieving  about  you.  But 
now  it's  all  cleared  up.  (She  sinks  into  a  chair.) 

STASI.    What's  cleared  up? 

WILLY.  (Going  to  her  tenderly)  Rosie's  all 
right.  You  put  crazy  ideas  into  her  head,  too. 

STASI.   I  know  what  I  know. 

WILLY.   Und  I  know  you  don't  know. 

STASI.  All  right ! 

WILLY.  All  right ! 

SOPHY.  (Entering  R.J  Mr.  Engel,  Mr.  Hutton 
comes  now  up  de  path. 

WILLY.    (To  SOPHY.,  waving  her  off  L.c.j    In  a 


70  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

minute.  (At  mention  of  HUTTON,  ROSIE  rises 
quickly.) 

ROSIE.  Come,  Uncle  Stasi.  Goodbye,  Uncle 
Willy.  (STASI  gets  his  hat  from  desk  up  L.) 

WILLY.  (Very  tenderly)  Yah,  goodbye,  Rosie. 
(Goes  toward  her.) 

STASI.  (With  great  dignity  taking  ROSIE  away 
from  him)  Yah,  we  leave  you  to  your  new  friends ; 
but  remember,  Willy,  you  lose  today  a  old  one.  (He 
exits  with  ROSIE  through  French  windows.) 

WILLY.  (Much  moved,  starts  to  follow  STASI. 
Calling)  Stasi — Stasi !  (He  stands  looking  after 
them.) 

THEODORE.  Dad,  put  on  your  coat.  (Brings  him 
his  coat.) 

WILLY.  (Makes  a  gesture  of  futility.  Perplexed) 
I  don't  like  it  dat  liddle  Rosie  cries  like  dat. 

THEODORE.  (Has  quickly  gathered  up  the  bills  and 
letters  from  the  table  c.)  What's  Hutton  come  for  ? 

WILLY.  (Getting  into  his  coat)  I  don't  know. 
(Suddenly  to  THEODORE,  who  is  putting  the  bills,  etc., 
out  of  sight  in  desk  up  L. )  Say,  Theodore,  you  bet 
ter  tell  him  aboud  Harriet. 

THEODORE.  Not  a  word !  Let  him  do  the  talking. 
(He  closes  desk  as  HUTTON  enters  L.C.  HUTTON'S 
manner  is  very  reserved  and  suspensive.  SOPHY 
goes  behind  table  and  exits  R.) 

WILLY.    (Absently)    Goot  evenink,  Mr.  Hutton. 

HUTTON.    (To  WILLY  J    Good  evening. 

THEODORE.    How  d'ye  do? 

HUTTON.  Very  well,  thank  you.  (There  is  a  sus 
pensive  look  among  all  THREE.,)  I  was  just  going 
to  a  Bank  Directors'  meeting  at  our  Treasurer's 
house,  down  street,  so  I  thought  I'd  step  in  a  mo 
ment  on  my  way. 

WILLY.  Dot's  very  nice  of  you.   Sit  down. 

HUTTON.  (Sitting  L.  of  table)  Thanks.  I  heard 
that  you  were  at  the  bank  today. 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  71 

WILLY.  Oh,  yah.  I  jusht  shtepped  round  on  de 
way  to  de  factory,  down  your  shtreed.  Und  I  jusht 
dropped  in  fer  a  moment. 

HUTTON.    (Laconically)    Yes,  twice. 

WILLY.     Yah,    yah (Embarrassed)    ^  Going 

down  und  coming  back.   But  dere's  nodding  in  per- 

tickel 

HUTTON.  Come,  now,  hadn't  we  better  be  open 
with  each  other,  Mr.  Engel? 

WILLY.   Yah,  shure — but  we 

THEODORE.  (Moving  as  if  to  go)  Would  you  pre 
fer  that  I ? 

HUTTON.  No.   I'd  like  you  to  remain. 
THEODORE.   Oh,  certainly. 

HUTTON.  (To  WILLY,)  I  had  an  idea  that  ycu 
wanted  the  bank  to  give  you  a  little  more  time  on 
the  mortgages  and  notes  we  hold  of  yours. 

WILLY.  If  you  could  renew  dem — or  exshtend  de 
time.  De  factory  ish  dere.  You  got  security. 

HUTTON.  I  know  you've  had  great  difficulties. 
The  strikes  have  hurt  us  all  a  little. 

WILLY.   Yah,  Mr.  Hutton,  fer  t'ree  mont's  not  a 

stitch!   Und  my  men I  can't  shpeak  aboud  it! 

HUTTON.  You've  been  a  good  friend  to  your 
workmen.  You've  had  to  suffer  for  the  bad  em 
ployer.  And  in  such  times  one  needs  one's  friends. 
Yours  is  the  oMest  account  we  have.  I  personally 
would  like  to  see  you  on  your  feet  again.  I  don't 
want  to  intrude  advice,  but  I  suggest  you  make 
what  terms  you  can  with  the  trade  unions.  And  if 
your  factory  is  prepared  to  start,  our  bank  will  help 
you. 

WILLY.  Don'd  dink  I  don'd  appreciate  dat. 
HUTTON.    (Nods,  then  turns  to  THEODORE,)    And 
now,  young  man,  I  had  an  idea  you  might  want  to 
talk  to  me  as  well. 

THEODORE.  (Nervous,  but  charming  and  eager  as 
he  rises)  Yes,  sir.  About  what,  sir? 


72  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

HUTTON.   My  daughter  Harriet. 

THEODORE.   Then — ah — she's  told  you? 

HUTTON.  That  you  made  her  an  offer  of  mar 
riage. 

THEODORE.    Well,  that's  true,  sir.    (Pause.) 

WILLY.  Well — ah — w'at  you  dink  aboud  it,  Mr. 
Hutton? 

HUTTON.   May  I  speak  frankly? 

WILLY.  Like  your  own  family. 

HUTTON.  I  wish  to  be  satisfied  that  your  son  is 
the  man  to  whom  I  can  safely  trust  my  girl. 

WILLY.  You  kin  trusht  my  Theodore.  I  trusht 
him  mit  all  I  got  in  de  world. 

HUTTON.  There's  where  I  think  you've  made  a 
great  mistake. 

WILLY.    Hah? 

HUTTON.  Yes,  you've  trusted  him  with  all  you 
had.  But  how  has  he  discharged  that  trust?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know.  That's  what  I'm  entitled  to 
know. 

WILLY.  Of  course  his  business  cost  me  someding 
—like  cilery  business  at  de  beginning.  (Proudly) 
But  he  gits  a  chentlemen's  shtart. 

HUTTON.  Why  didn't  your  son  enter  your  busi 
ness? 

WILLY.  I  didn't  want  dat  he  should  be  a  shoe 
maker. 

HUTTON.  (To  THEODORE,)  Your  father's  business 
at  least  is  honorable  and  useful. 

THEODORE.   What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Hutton? 

HUTTON.  I've  had  our  Boston  man  look  up  your 
partner. 

THEODORE.   You  mean  Mr.  Vaughn  Leland? 

HUTTON.  Our  Boston  director  called  him  a  very 
ugly  name.  His  dealings  have  been  far  from  honest. 

WILLY.   Mein  Gott !  We  didn't 

HUTTON.  (To  WILLY,)  Before  you  gave  your  son 
a  hand  in  your  affairs  you  were  one  of  the  most 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  73 

respected  merchants  in  this  city.  Where  do  you 
stand  now?  I  dislike  speaking  of  money  matters.  I 
only  refer  to  them  because  my  business  has  taught 
me  to  judge  men's  characters  by  the  way  they  handle 
money. 

WILLY.    Den  you  oppose  de  match? 

HUTTON.  No.  My  daughter  says  she  loves  him. 
I  respect  her  feeling.  Therefore  I  can  exact  that 
you  respect  mine  as  well. 

WILLY.    Dat  goes  mitoud  saying. 

THEODORE.  Mr.  Hutton,  what  do  you  want  me 
to  do? 

HUTTON.  Cut  your  questionable  associations, 
make  something  of  your  life,  and  prove  yourself  to 
be  all  that  we  hope  you  are.  You  both  are  young. 
I  wish  you  both  to  look  on  me  as  on  a  friend — and 
not  to  continue  secret  meetings.  That's  understood. 
(THEODORE  nods.  Offering  his  hand  to  THEODORE^) 
Good  luck,  young  man. 

THEODORE.    (Shaking  his  hand)   Thank  you ! 

HUTTON.    (Moving  up)    They're  waiting  for  me. 

WILLY.  (Taking  HUTTON  off  L.C.)  Dot's  very  nice 
of  you  to  come  dis  evening.  (Etc.  ad  lib.  As  WILLY 
and  HUTTON  exit  the  R  door  opens  cautiously  and 
CARTER  appears.) 

CARTER.  (Suppressed  tone)  Theodore — I've 
something  to  ask  you. 

THEODORE.  Well,  you've  lost,  like  all  of  us.  Don't 
squeal. 

CARTER.  (Anxiously)  Did  Hutton  say  anything 
about  Leland? 

THEODORE.  He  said  you  let  us  in  with  a  crook. 
But  that's  old  stuff. 

CARTER.  But  is  it  all  right  with  Hutton  and  the 
factory  ? 

THEODORE.  Why,  of  course. 

CARTER.  (Giving  a  telegram  to  THEODORE,)  Oh. 
This  was  at  the  office  for  you. 


74  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

THEODORE.  (After  reading  the  telegram)  From 
Williams  at  the  Boston  office.  Asks  me  to  call  him 
up  this  evening.  They  must  be  working  late. 

CARTER.  The  market's  hit  rock  bottom.  I  heard 
downtown  that  the  Chemical  Stock  Leland  under 
wrote  has  gone  to  Hell. 

THEODORE.  (Starts  for  the  phone  and  then  comes 
back)  I'd  better  run  down  to  Boston  tonight  and 
put  the  brakes  on  Leland.  (WILLY  is  heard  singing 
his  old  song  as  he  approaches.)  Don't  worry  Dad. 

WILLY.  (Enters  L.CV  singing  joyously  again) 
Well,  my  boy,  my  boy — I  dink  I  can  congratulate 
you!  (THEODORE  turns  away.  Encouragingly) 
Don'd  be  knocked  down !  Be  like  your  fader !  We 
hat  a  great  success.  I  tell  you,  Carter,  dis  old  brain 
of  mine — I  got  already  a  idea !  (To  THEODORE)  You 
better  sell  out  to  dat  feller  Leland.  I  don'd  want 
you  mixed  in  mit  him.  Und  you  begin  mit  me. 
Wat  we  lose  on  him,  we  pay  fer  our  experience,  so 

don'd  worry.  (To  CARTER,)  But  I  fergit You 

got  dat  contract  signed  ? 

CARTER.  (Reaching  in  his  pocket)  Yes.  (Gives 
him  a  contract.) 

WILLY.  (To  THEODORE)  You  see?  (To  CARTER) 
Und  how  much  down? 

CARTER.  Hutchinson  promised  that  his  customer 
would  have  three  thousand  here  in  cash  before  ten 
tomorrow. 

WILLY.  Carter,  you're  a  fool!  Dot  contract  ish 
no  goot  mitoud  consideration. 

CARTER.  Hutchinson  paid  me  a  hundred  dollars 
down  to  bind  it. 

WILLY.  Den  dot's  all  righd.  You  got  dat  money? 
(CARTER  nods  and  gives  it  to  him.  To  THEODORE) 
You  see  ?  (To  CARTER)  Who  buys  dat  proberdy  ? 

CARTER.   He  wouldn't  say. 

WILLY.  (Shrewdly)  Dot  Hutchinson,  he  buys 
dat  fer  himself  on  speckilation.  (Going  to  desk  up 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  75 

•L.)  Come,  Carter.  I  got  courage  now  to  look  at 
bills.  (He  gathers  a  heap  of  them)  Yah,  some  money 
in  de  hand  again !  (To  THEODORE,  with  great  senti 
ment)  And  we  kin  keep  de  house.  Come,  Carter.  I 
put  dat  contract  in  de  safe  upshtairs.  (Crosses  and 
goes  toward  exit  R.cJ  Yah,  if  you  didn't  make  so 
goot  a  contract  fer  dat  proberdy,  I'd  tell  you  some- 
ding  aboud  dat  feller  Leland.  (Severely)  Come, 
Carter,  I  tell  you  anyway!  (CARTER  exits  upstairs. 
WILLY  starts  to  follow  him,  when  THEODORE  ex 
claims.) 

THEODORE.  Dad!  (WILLY  turns.  THEODORE  goes 
up  to  him  and  speaks  almost  tearfully)  Dad,  you 
don't  think  I'm  as  rotten  as  Uncle  Stasi  says,  do 
you?  It  seems  I've  brought  nothing  but  unhappi- 
ness  to  everybody. 

WILLY.  (Tenderly,  bucking  THEODORE  up)  My 
boy!  Remember  dis.  /  believe  on  you,  so  don'd 
worry.  De  bat  times  is  over.  (Going  to  stairway) 
Schleep  goot,  my  boy.  (Turning  on  the  stairs)  I 
could  be  very  heppy  only — only  I  don'd  like  it  dat 
little  Rosie  cries  like  dat.  (THEODORE  stands  con 
tritely.  WILLY  exits  upstairs.  After  he  is  off  THEO 
DORE  goes  quickly  to  the  pantry  and  calls.) 

THEODORE.   Sophy ! 

SOPHY.    (Voice  off)   Yah,  Theodore? 

THEODORE.  Come  here,  please. 

SOPHY.    (Voice  off)   All  right. 

THEODORE.   ( Goes  to  phone)  Hello—  Hello 

Long  distance,  please. — Yes. — I  want  to  speak  to 

Boston — Tremont  eight-eight-O-one That's  it. 

— Yes,  call  me,  please.  (He  hangs  up  receiver  as 
SOPHY  enters)  Will  you  pack  my  suitcase,  please? 
I'm  going  to  Boston  right  away. 

SOPHY.   Tonighd  yet? 

THEODORE.  (Nods)  Be  quick  about  it.  (  SOPHY 
exits  upstairs.  THEODORE  starts  to  follow  her  as 
HARRIET  enters  through  the  French  windows)  Har- 


76  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

riet!  You  wonderful  girl!  You  told  your  father, 
after  all. 

HARRIET.  (Coldly)  Some  busybody  saw  us  danc 
ing  at  the  hotel  and  told  Father.  There  was  an 
awful  scene.  I  had  to  say  we  were  engaged, — even 
threatened  to  marry  you  right  away,  or  else  Father 
would  have  interfered  with  everything. 

THEODORE.   But  Harriet 

HARRIET.  (Impatiently)  Look  here, — I've  got  to 
call  for  him  at  half-past  nine.  What  do  you  mean 
by  the  letter  you  left  for  me  this  evening  ?  Have  you 
put  my  money  again  where  there's  danger  of  my 
losing  it? 

THEODORE.  Now  don't  be  unjust,  Harriet.  I  didn't 
want  you  to  go  on  margin,  but  you  insisted. 

HARRIET.  I  insisted  because  you  said  the  stock 
was  good. 

THEODORE.   It  is  good. 

HARRIET.  Yes, — so  good  that  now  you  ask  me  to 
give  you  more  money  or  lose  everything. 

THEODORE.  Oh,  I  would  have  done  anything  I 
could  to  protect  your  holdings;  but  as  I  can't  and 
time  is  short,  I  had  to  tell  you. 

HARRIET.   Will  three  thousand  make  me  safe  ? 

THEODORE.   Yes. 

HARRIET.  Well,  here  it  is.  (She  takes  an  envelope 
with  three  one-thousand-dollar  bills  out  of  her 
breast)  And  it's  the  last.  (  SOPHY  is  heard  singing 
as  she  comes  down  stairs.)  Who's  that? 

THEODORE.    Only  Sophy. 

HARRIET.    I  don't  want  anybody  to  see  me  here. 

THEODORE.  Then  just  step  out  in  the  hall.  (HAR 
RIET  slips  out  of  sight,  L.C.  SOPHY  enters,  carrying 
a  suitcase  and  still  singing.  She  places  suitcase  on 
the  floor  R.C.)  Thank  you,  Sophy. 

SOPHY.  (Stops  singing  to  say)  Welcome.  (She 
resumes  her  singing  as  she  exits  R.J 


ACT  it  OUR  CHILDREN  77 

HARRIET.  (Coming  down)  Where  are  you  go 
ing? 

THEODORE.  To  Boston  on  the  nine-fifty-five.  I'm 
sorry,  dear,  you've  been  so  disappointed. 

HARRIET.    (With  a  sneer)   That  helps  a  lot. 

THEODORE.  Why,  Harriet,  we're  not  going  to  quar- 
rpi 

1  C 1"  ™~ 

HARRIET.  No.  We're  just  going  to  end  things 
right  here  and  now. 

THEODORE.  End  things?  (Pause.)  You  mean  that 
you  don't  love  me? 

HARRIET.  Oh,  don't  be  sentimental.  Keep  to  busi 
ness  and  protect  my  investments.  (She  extends  the 
money  to  him.) 

THEODORE.  If  you  feel  that  way,  I'd  rather  you'd 
have  someone  else  attend  to  it. 

HARRIET.  Huh!  No  doubt.  After  having  in 
volved  me,  you're  perfectly  willing  to  shirk  respon 
sibility.  You  know  very  well  I  can't  attend  to  this 
myself.  You've  got  to  help  me  out.  (She  puts  the 
money  on  the  table.) 

THEODORE.  Very  well. 

HARRIET.  I'd  like  a  receipt.  Count  it,  please. 

THEODORE.  (Stares  at  her  a  second;  counts  the 
money,  then  sits  R.  of  table  and  writes  a  receipt  on 
the  back  of  his  card,  saying)  Certainly.  (He  gives 
her  the  card.  She  looks  at  it  carefully.) 

HARRIET.  That  will  do.   (Moves  L.) 

THEODORE.  Harriet,  all  this  can't  be  true !  It  isn't 
possible  that  you  and  I  are  standing  here  disputing 
over  business  when  we (Moves  toward  her.) 

HARRIET.  Do  you  think  I  ever  intended  to  marry 
you? 

THEODORE.  You  mean  that  you've  just  made  a 
fool  of  me? 

HARRIET.  Oh,  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself.  Just 
because  I  drove  and  danced  with  you,  and  perhaps 
flirted  a  little,  is  no  reason  to  think  I'd  marry  you. 


78  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

THEODORE.    Harriet ! 

HARRIET.  I  gave  you  credit  for  more  brains.  Now, 
you've  got  my  money,  and  I've  got  your  receipt.  So 
I  expect  you  to  make  good  for  the  first  time  in  your 
life.  (She  flings  out  through  the  French  windows. 
THEODORE  stands  crushed.  He  picks  up  the  money 
mechanically.  The  PHONE  bell  rings.  He  pays  no 
attention.  It  rings  again.  He  goes  to  it,  unconscious 
ly  holding  the  money.) 

THEODORE.  (At  phone)  Hello Oh,  yes,  I  put 

in  a  call Hello Is  this  the  office  of  Leland 

&  Engel? — Oh,  that  you,  Williams? — I'm  coming 

right  down Carter  told  me What? — Why 

not? — Speak  slower to  warn  me ?  What  do 

you  mean? — Sheriffs ?  Receiver  sealed  the  books, 

pending  investigation?  ! — But  where's  Leland? — 
Gone? — Gone  where? — You  don't  know!  I  (His 

voice  climbs  in  horror)  — Speculating! He's 

taken  clients'  money!  ! — Ran  away!  ? — Good  God! 
— What? — Detectives!? — Police  are  after  me!? 
(He  stands  transfixed  with  fear  and  then  controls 

himself)  Oh,  that's  all  right Don't  worry 

about  me — I'll  be  all (He  puts  up  the  receiver 

and  runs  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  crying,  "Dad — 
Dad!"  like  a  fear-smitten  boy.  He  stops  short  with 
his  hand  over  his  mouth,  mumbling)  No, — I  won't 
do  that.  (He  suddenfy  becomes  conscious  of  the 
three  thousand  dollars  in  his  hand.  Then  his  eyes 
fall  on  his  suitcase  standing  where  SOPHY  left  it. 
His  eyes  grow  big  with  decision,  and  he  obeys  only 
one  impulse  now.  He  puts  the  money  into  his 
pocket,  goes  to  the  sideboard,  takes  out  a  time-table 
from  the  drawer,  runs  his  finger  quickly  down  the 
list  of  trains;  consults  his  watch,  all  the  time 
mumbling  incoherently  under  his  breath.  Then  he 
takes  a  sheet  of  paper  and  an  envelope  from  the 
table,  sits  down  and  writes  a  hasty  note.  At  this 
point  WILLY  is  heard  singing  his  old  song  upstairs. 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  79 

THEODORE  rises  and  puts  the  half-written  note  and 
envelope  into  his  pocket.  He  crosses  hastily,  picks 
up  his  hat  and  coat,  seises  his  suitcase,  goes  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  pauses,  then  overcome,  he  runs 
out  L.C.  Pause.  WILLY  comes  downstairs  in  conver 
sation  with  CARTER.) 

WILLY.  (Confidently)  Yah,  soon  we  see  schmoke 
in  de  chimneys  once  again.  (Crossing  behind  table) 
I  telephone  dat  trade  union  delegate  in  de  mornink. 
If  we  got  to  do  business  mit  dem,  we  do  it.  In  de 
long  run  it's  easier. 

CARTER.  (Following  him)  What  time  will  you  be 
down  ? 

WILLY.  I'm  at  my  office  eight  o'clock.  (Turns  off 
SIDE  LIGHTS)  I  git  some  ready  money  in  de 
morning.  We  dishcount  de  bills.  Hutton  arranges 
dat.  (Turns  off  LIGHTS  in  chandelier.) 

CARTER.  (Admiringly)  You've  got  stuff  in  you 
yet,  Mr.  Engel. 

WILLY.  Yah,  when  you  got  money  you  git  nerve. 
(The  LIGHTS  are  all  out  except  the  small  lamp  on 
desk  up  L.j  We  make  anodder  fight  mit  dose  com- 
peditors.  Schleep  goot.  (Exit  L.C.  with  CARTER.,) 

(The  stage  is  quite  dark.  MOONLIGHT  comes  in 
through  French  windows.  At  this  moment  the 
door  from  the  pantry  is  opened  cautiously  and 
SOPHY  enters  and  motions  off  for  someone  to 
come  in.) 

SOPHY.  Carter  goes.  Your  father  comes  right  back 
already.  (HERTHA  enters;  passes  SOPHY,  then  turns. 
HERTHA  has  an  old-fashioned  Paisley  shawl  over 
her  shoulders.) 

HERTHA.   Sophy!    (Embraces  her.) 

SOPHY.  (Tearfully)  Yah,  we  miss  you,  Hertha. 
(Kisses  her;  then  with  a  sigh)  It's  different  since 
you  gone  away. 


8o  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

HERTHA.    How  is  he? 

SOPHY.    Troubles. 

HERTHA.   I  know. 

SOPHY.  Und  we  don't  git  younger  no  more,  Her- 
tha.  He  comes  now.  (  WILLY  is  heard  humming  his 
old  song  joyfully  off  L.C.) 

HERTHA.   That's  what  he  used  to  sing. 

SOPHY.  Yah — dat  song.  De  lonelier  he  gets, 
Hertha,  de  more  he  sings.  (She  exits  R.j 

( WILLY  enters  L.C.,  still  humming.  He  goes  to 
French  windows;  closes  and  locks  them  with  a 
latch,  then  puts  chair  down  L.  into  its  place. 
Still  humming,  he  goes  toward  table  c.  for  his 
pipe  and  tobacco.  The  MOONLIGHT  from 
the  French  windows  falls  upon  HERTHA  stand 
ing  R.  of  table.  The  dim  light  makes  HERTHA 
look  very  mysterious  and  ghostly.  WILLY 
starts  to  pick  up  his  pipe.  His  eyes  fall  upon 
HERTHA.  He  stops  singing  abruptly  in  the  mid 
dle  of  a  phrase  and  stands  looking  at  her, 
amazed  as  at  a  ghost.  Pause.) 

HERTHA.  Papa !  (He  stands  stock  still.)  Papa — 
(No  movement.  Pause.  Then  he  sinks  without  a 

word  into  the  chair  L.  of  table.)  Papa,  you ! 

(Frightened,  she  goes  to  him.) 

WILLY.  'S  all  righd.  (Waves  her  off  and  vaguely 
rubs  his  eyes)  I  t'ought  fer  a  minnit  it  was  your 
modder. 

HERTHA.  (Twitching  her  shawl)  This  was  her 
shawl. 

WILLY.  Yah  so.  (He  pulls  on  the  LIGHT  in 
lamp  on  the  table.) 

HERTHA.    How  have  you  been? 

WILLY.  (Attempting  to  rally  his  pride)  You 
see — we — ah — we  git  along  mitoud  you. 

HERTHA.    (Looking  around  room)    Yes. 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  81 

WILLY.   Since  w'en  you  come  to  Lynn? 

HERTHA.   We're  at  the  hotel  over  night. 

WILLY.   You're  here  mit — mit  him? 

HERTHA.  Richard  had  some  business  here  in  town 
tonight,  and  I  came  with  him. 

WILLY.  (Truculently)  Yah!  Richard  has  lots  of 
business  here  in  town  mit  my  compeditors ! 

HERTHA.  That's  why  I  wanted  to  see  you.  (Slips 
off  her  shawl,  which  she  allows  to  fall  in  chair  R.  of 
table.) 

WILLY.  (Bristling)  Richard  sends  you  to  me 
again — hah  ? 

HERTHA.  He  doesn't  know  I'm  here. 

WILLY.  Den — you — better  go  way  again.  So  long 
as  you  schtick  by  him  against  your  fader,  shtay  mit 
him. 

HERTHA.  Haven't  you  missed  me,  Papa? 

WILLY.  (With  unconscious  pathos)  You  choosed 
your  life.  So  I  try  not  to  dink  aboud  it.  (He  turns 
away.) 

HERTHA.  Papa,  wouldn't  you  like  to  know  your 
grandchildren  ? 

WILLY.  (A  hesitant  smile  comes  over  his  face  as 
he  turns  to  her)  You  got — children? 

HERTHA.   Yes,  two  of  them. 

WILLY.  What?  Two? 

HERTHA.  Who'll  want  some  day  to  know  their 
grandfather.  (Pauses)  You'd  love  them,  Papa. 

WILLY.    (Turning  away)    His  children. 

HERTHA.  But  mine  too ! 

WILLY.    (Turning  back  to  her)    Boys? 

HERTHA.   Both  boys. 

WILLY.  (Overcome)  'Swonderful!  Yah,  boys 
ish  besht.  Girls (He  makes  a  deprecating  ges 
ture)  You  give  'em  efferyding  you  can — some  fel 
ler  comes  along — dey  leave  you.  Boys  cosht  you 
more ;  but  anyvay  you  got  'em  w'en  you  need  'em ! 
Dere's  my  Theodore.  He  was  expensive  right  von 


82  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

de  beginning.  He  cosht  me  his  modder.  (Proudly) 
But  no  matter  w'at  happens,  he  sticks  by  de  old 
man! 

HERTHA.  Papa,  /  would  like  to  help  you,  too.  *tf 
you  would  let  me. 

WILLY.    I  don't  need  any  help. 

HERTHA.  Papa,  when  I  left  you,  you  gave  me  ten 
thousand  dollars. 

WILLY.  Yah— well ? 

HERTHA.  I  thought  that  if (She  offers  him 

the  bankbook  he  gave  to  her  in  Act  I.) 

WILLY.    I  don'd  touch  a  penny  of  it. 

HERTHA.    But  why? 

WILLY.  I  gave  dat  to  you  in  your  modder's  name. 
That  belongs  to  you  by  righd.  Und  righd  is  righd. 

HERTHA.  But  I  don't  need  it  now.  I  know  you  do. 

WILLY.  (Obstinately)  We  don'd  arg'  no  more 
aboud  it.  Not  a  sound  more !  (With  a  change)  You 
keep  dat  fer  de  boys. 

HERTHA.   Are  we  to  go  on  this  way  again? 

WILLY.  Den  why  you  come  jusht  now?  Fer 
two  years  I  shtay  here  und  wait  und  wait — t'rou'  all 
de  hart  times !  W'en  Richard  und  dot  crowd  does 
his  besht  to  force  your  fader  oud  of  business,  you 
shtay  away !  Now  you  come ;  but  now  it  is  too  late ! 

HERTHA.   Papa ! 

WILLY.  You  come  now  because  he  tells  you  dat 
de  old  man's  finished !  But  he  ain't !  Yah,  I  tell  you 
now  I  did  hat  hart  times.  Nighd  efter  nighd  I  walk 
de  floor  und  dink  dat  it's  my  old  frient's  son  und 
my  own  daughter's  husband  dat  makes  me  all  dis 
trouble ! 

HERTHA.  And  how  do  you  think  7  felt  through 
all  this  time  ?  You  hating  Richard  and  Richard  hat 
ing  you.  I've  had  to  bear  the  burden  of  both  your 
hates  until  I  thought  my  heart  would  break  with  it ! 

WILLY.   Yah,  Richard— he 

HERTHA.   You  drove  Richard  out.   He  had  to  go 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  83 

somewhere  to  earn  a  living  and  he  went  to  your 
competitors.  They  welcomed  him.  But  at  every  step 
that  Richard  climbed,  I've  seen  you  go  down  and 

down,  until  your  factory  is  closed And  that 

thought  has  poisoned  all  the  happiness  I  could  have 
had  in  Richard's  great  success !  (With  a  cry)  I've 
been  just  like  our  mother.  She  prayed  for  a  son  to 
make  you  happy.  And  when  he  came  it  killed  her. 
I  have  prayed  for  Richard's  luck,  and  now  that  it 
has  come — it's  killing  me  !  !  (Sinks  into  chair  R. 
of  table  and  buries  her  face  in  her  hands.) 

WILLY.  (Hesitating  and  moved)  Dings  happen 
— somedimes,  dat  peeble  can't  help  demselves.  (He 
caresses  her  shoulder  awkwardly)  Well — w'at  you 
want  dat  I  shall  do? 

HERTHA.  (Fervently)  Make  friends  with  Rich 
ard. 

WILLY.  (Suddenly  changing)  Now  we  got  it !  / 
should  got  to  him!  Dot's  w'at  he  wants!  Yah,  he 
hears  maybe  dat  I  begin  again,  and  so  he  gets 
a-scared  of  w'at  I  do  mit  his  crowd  in  de  shoe  busi 
ness! 

HERTHA.  Papa,  can't  you  think  one  generous 
thought  of  him? 

WILLY.  (Bluntly  turning  on  her)  Den  why  you 
come? 

HERTHA.  I've  wanted  to  save  you,  for  you're  the 
one  that  needs  me.  (Deprecating  gesture  from 
WILLY,)  Papa,  Richard  has  come  tonight  to  buy 
your  factory  over  your  head ! 

WILLY.   W'at! 

HERTHA.  There's  a  meeting  of  the  bank  that  holds 
your  mortgages.  Richard's  there! 

WILLY.    So ! 

HERTHA.  They're  going  to  drive  you  out  of  busi 
ness!  So  I  hoped  that  if  in  any  way  that  I — if  I 
could  make  you  friends 

WILLY.  You  go  back  und  tell  him  dis 


84  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

HERTHA.  (Interrupting)  I  can  tell  him  nothing 
about  you ! 

WILLY.  Den  let  him  do  w'at  he  likes!  You 
needn't  be  afraid  fer  me.  Jusht  dink  on  him!  Und 
w'en  dat  Richard  goes  to  de  bank  tonighd  to  buy  my 
fectory,  my  friendt,  de  President, — my  friendt,  Mr. 
Hutton— he  tells  him  someding!  (DOORBELL 
rings.) 

HERTHA.   Psch ! 

(  SOPHY  enters  R.  ;  exits  L.C.) 

WILLY.  Who  comes  now?  (HERTHA  goes  swift 
ly  to  French  windows;  unlocks  them  cautiously  and 
looks  out.  She  gives  a  sudden  start  and  comes  back 
quickly  to  WILLY.J 

HERTHA.    (Frightened)    It's  Richard!   What  can 

WILLY.  W'at!  Richard!  (Suddenly  in  rage)  I 
don'd  want  dat  he !  (He  makes  up  toward  exit 

L.C.J 

HERTHA.  (Stopping  him)  Oh,  Papa,  maybe  he's 
come  to  make  peace  with  you.  He's  doing  some 
thing  that  I  never  thought  he  could. 

SOPHY.  (Entering  L.C.,  surprised)  Mr.  Richard 
comes ! 

HERTHA.  (To  SOPHY,  whispering)  You  didn't 
tell  him  that  I ? 

SOPHY.  (Bluntly)  I  don't  say  nodding  to  nobody 
no  more ! 

HERTHA.  Papa — for  my  sake  don't  refuse  to  lis 
ten  to  him.  (Pause.) 

WILLY.  (To  SOPHYJ  Tell  him,  come  in.  ( SOPHY 
exits  L.cJ 

HERTHA.  Don't  tell  him  that  I'm  here.  (She 
takes  her  shawl  and  exits  R.j 

(WILLY  goes  up  and  turns  on  the  LIGHTS  full  up, 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  85 

but  several  are  seen  to  be  burnt  out.  Then  he 
goes  R.  of  table  and  stands  rigidly  as  RICHARD 
enters  from  L.C.  RICHARD  is  well  though  se 
dately  dressed.  He  no  longer  looks  the  work 
man.  He  moves  freely  and  speaks  resolutely. 
The  atmosphere  of  success  seems  to  come  before 
him.) 

RICHARD.  (Quietly  as  he  comes  to  position  L.  of 
table)  I  didn't  know  if  you  would  care  to  see  me. 

WILLY.  You  didn't  come  all  de  vay  von  Con 
cord  f  er  me  to  look  at  you. 

RICHARD.   No.   That's  true. 

WILLY.  Well? 

RICHARD.  First,  I  want  to  thank  you  for  kicking 
me  out  two  years  ago. 

WILLY.    (Promptly)    You're  welcome. 

RICHARD.  You  didn't  intend  it  should,  but  it  put 
me  on  my  feet.  Now  I've  come  back  to  Lynn. 

WILLY.   I  see  dat  too.  Why  you  tell  me  dis  ? 

RICHARD.   Because  I  hope  to  stay. 

WILLY.   De  town  ish  big. 

RICHARD.  But  there's  only  one  place  in  this  town 
I  want — my  father's  homestead. 

WILLY.  (With  ill-concealed  elation)  I'm  very 
sorry,  but  dat's  sold. 

RICHARD.  (Quietly)  I  know.  When  can  I  have 
the  deed? 

WILLY.   W'at!   You? 

RICHARD.  Hutchinson  was  my  agent.  I've  got 
your  contract  signed.  (Taking  out  bills  from  his 
pocket  case)  That  makes  the  three  thousand  dollars 
for  first  payment.  (Puts  money  on  table)  I  wish  to 
build  my  house. 

WILLY.   So,  it  was  you  who  buys 

RICHARD.  (Pointing  to  money)  I  think  you'll 
find  that  right.  (WILLY  counts  the  money.)  The 
contract  reads  that  you  will  execute  the  deed  im- 


86  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

mediately  on  the  receipt  of  the  first  purchase  money. 

WILLY.  Yah,  I  sign  dat  deed  tomorrow.  (He  takes 
the  hundred  dollar  bill  he  got  from  CARTER  out  of 
his  pocket  and  puts  it  with  the  rest  of  the  money. 
RICHARD  has  just  given  him.) 

RICHARD.  Give  the  receipt  for  this  to  Hutchison 
as  well. 

WILLY.  (Losing  control  of  himself)  You  can 
have  dat  proberdy  oud  dere,  but  fer  de  factory  you 
can  wait! 

RICHARD.  (Controlling  his  amazement)  The  fac 
tory — who ? 

WILLY.   Yah  !   My  factory ! 

RICHARD.  (Coldly)  We  are  prepared  to  wait! 
(With  quiet  firmness  but  no  pity  for  WILLY,)  My 
firm  has  sent  me  here,  because  I  know  your  plant 
and  what  it's  worth.  Your  friend,  Mr.  Hutton,  has 
seen  fit  to  give  you  some  more  time  for  reasons  I 
don't  know.  They  can't  be  business  reasons,  because 
I'm  sure  you  can't  continue  long  in  the  old  way. 
The  times  have  changed.  You've  not  changed  with 
them.  However,  that's  his  affair,  not  mine. 

WILLY.  Und  w'en  you  fellers  got  a  proposition 
dot  dey  want  me  to  accept  you  tell  dem  dey  should 
send  anybody  elset  but  you! 

RICHARD.    I  made  you  no  proposition. 

WILLY.  (Enraged)  No !  You  didn't !  But  you  go 
behind  my  back  to  git  dat  Kennels  properdy !  (Points 
off  L.J  You  go  behind  my  back  to  Hutton! ! 

RICHARD.   Who  told  you  that? 

WILLY.  (Calling  out)  Hertha !  (Pause)  Hertha ! 
(Enter  HERTHA  R.  WILLY  continues,  tauntingly) 
You  see  /  don'd  do  dings  behind  de  back. 

RICHARD.    (Amazed  at  seeing  HERTHAJ   You! 

WILLY.  (To  HERTHAJ  I  hope  you  heard  de  way 
he  makes  peace  mit  your  fader! 

RICHARD.    Hertha,  what  are  you  doing  here? 

WILLY.   She  begs  me  I  should  listen  to  you. 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  87 

RICHARD.   (Scornfully)   What  ? ! 

WILLY.  Yah,  for  her  sake  I  give  you  de  chancet 
you  should  insult  me  oncet  again ! 

HERTHA.  Papa 

WILLY.  (To  RICHARD,  violently)  You  don'd  see 
me  on  de  knees !  (WILLY  goes  up  c.) 

RICHARD.  (Going  over  to  HERTHA  down  Rj 
Then  it  was  you  who  told  him  of  our  plans  about 
the  factory !  Tell  me,  did  you  ? 

HERTHA.    Yes,  I  told  him. 

RICHARD.    Why  ? 

HERTHA.     Something  went  blind  in  me — I 

RICHARD.  (Sorrowfully)  Yes,  my  dear,  you  must 
be  blind.  I  know  that  when  you  realize  what  you've 
done. 

BERTHA.   What  have  I  done? 

RICHARD.  You  must  see  that  I  have  duties  to  my 
firm — to  the  people  that  put  bread  in  our  mouths. 
You've  betrayed  them.  That's  what  you've  done. 

HERTHA.  Oh,  Richard!  You're  both  so  cruel! 
Don't  you  see — I 

RICHARD.  I  don't  want  to  be  unkind.  But  what 
shall  I  say  to  them?  To  my  firm?  That's  what  I've 
got  to  know. 

WILLY.  (To  RICHARD,  quietly)  Don'd  fighd  mit 
her  on  my  accound.  She  tells  me  nodding  of  your 
business  dot  I  didn't  know  already. 
^  HUTTON'S  VOICE.  (In  the  hall,  speaking  to  SOPHY,) 
I'll  go  right  in.  ( SOPHY  exits  R.  HUTTON  enters  L.C. 
He  is  in  a  cold  rage.  WILLY  is  behind  table.  HERTHA 
down  R.  RICHARD  down  L.  of  HERTHA.J 

WILLY.  Oh,  Mr.  Hutton.  I  didn't  expect  de 
pleasure  so  soon  again. 

HUTTON.  (After  a  look  at  WILLY  speaks  to  RICH 
ARD  j  Mr.  Hellman,  I'm  glad  to  find  you  here.  An 
hour  ago  I  refused  to  foreclose  and  sell  your  firm 
the  Engel  factory.  But  if  your  offer  still  holds 
good,  I'll  take  it.  The  factory  goes  to  you. 


88  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

RICHARD.   Done!    (HERTIIA  sinks  into  a  chair  up 

R.J 

WILLY.  (Confused,  to  HUTTON  j  Why — why — 
all  of  a  sudden — you — you  change  like  dis? 

HUTTON.    Where  is  your  son? 

WILLY.  I  call  him.  (He  calls  out)  Sophy !  Sophy ! 

SOPHY.    (Entering  R.)    Yah,  Mr.  Engel? 

WILLY.   Where's  Theodore? 

SOPHY.    We  went  tonighd  to  Boston. 

HUTTON.    That's  not  true. 

WILLY.  Hah!  All  right,  Sophy.  (He  motions 
her  off.  SOPHY  exits  R.J 

HUTTON.  (To  WILLYJ  For  your  sake  I  had  per 
suaded  my  directors  to  refuse  the  Concord  offer. 
But  tonight  I  learned  that  I've  no  right  to  risk  the 
money  of  our  depositors  on  such  men  as  you  are, 
and  your  son! 

WILLY.   Wat's  de  matter  mit  me  und  my  son  ? 

HUTTON.  In  your  blindness  you've  stood  by  him. 
Your  son  is  a  common  thief ! 

WILLY.  (Removes  his  glasses  and  puts  them  on 
the  table)  Don'd  you  say  dat  again,  Mr.  Hutton. 

HUTTON.  Your  son  took  three  thousand  dollars 
of  my  daughter's  money  tonight  after  he  knew  the 
police  had  closed  up  his  office. 

WILLY.    (Aghast)    Closed— up ? ! 

HUTTON.    Yes — embezzlement.    (Pause.) 

WILLY.  My  Theodore  don'd  do  that!  Where's 
dat  feller  Leland? 

HUTTON.  Leland  has  escaped.  But  I'm  not  speak 
ing  of  Mr.  Leland.  My  daughter's  dealings  were 
with  your  son.  Behind  my  back  and  with  your  son's 
connivance,  she's  gambled  away  the  whole  of  a 
legacy  her  grandmother  left  to  her! 

WILLY.  My  Theodore  couldn't  do  dat.  Dat's  not 
possible ! 

HUTTON.  Oh,  don't  misunderstand  me.  I  don't 
indict  your  son  for  my  daughter's  speculations.  But 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  89 

here  in  this  room  tonight,  he  took  another  three 
thousand  dollars  from  her.  He  took  that  three  thou 
sand  dollars  after  he  knew  that  he  himself  was  a 
bankrupt!  That  is  theft!  And  he  used  that  money 
to  run  away,  like  Leland ! 

WILLY.   Dat's  a  lie ! 

HUTTON.  He  told  her  he  was  going  to  Boston 
on  the  nine  fifty-five 

WILLY.   Well — he's  gone 

HUTTON.  Yes,  but  he  took  the  nine- forty-two  for 
Montreal!  The  ticket-agent  told  me  your  son  was  on 
that  train!  ( WILLY  is  stunned.  He  supports  him 
self  at  the  table.  HUTTON  continues,  relentlessly) 
I  hold  his  receipt  for  that  three  thousand  dollars. 
(He  shows  the  card  that  THEODORE  gave  HARRIET^ 
This  receipt  will  send  your  son  to  jail!  (Pause. 
Then  something  evidently  strikes  WILLY'S  mind,  for 
by  an  Imperceptible  means  he  has  got  himself  In 
hand.  He  turns  to  HUTTON  with  great  dignity.) 

WILLY.  You  excuse  me,  Mr.  Hutton,  but  you 
don'd  know  what  you  say.  (To  ALL,)  Don'd  worry. 
My  Theodore  is  no  thief.  (He  turns  to  RICHARD) 
Your  business  mit  Mr.  Hutton  is  finished?  (RiCH- 
ARD  nods.  HERTHA  pantomimes  RICHARD  to  go  to 
WILLY.; 

RICHARD.  Mr.  Engel,  isn't  there  anything  that  I 
can  do? 

WILLY.  (Quietly)  Thank  you.  I  don'd  need  you. 
(RICHARD  moves  up;  then  WILLY  continues  tenderly 
to  HERTHA,)  Und  I  don'd  need  you.  Good  night. 

RICHARD.  Come,  Hertha.  (They  exit  L.C.  and  close 
the  DOOR  after  them.  When  WILLY  hears  the  door 
close  he  turns  with  outraged  deliberation  to  HUT- 
TON.) 

WILLY.  Now,  Mr.  Hutton,  you  come  into  dis 
house  und  you  talk  business  mit  my  worsht  com- 
peditor,  over  my  head  und  under  my  roof.  Dat's 
w'at  you  do  to  me.  But  when  I  dink  on  w'at  you 


90  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

permit  yourself  to  say  aboud  my  son — all  dat  you 
do  to  me  is  nodding.  Now  you  get  de  truth.  Your 
daughter's  money  is  protected.  My  Theodore  takes 
care  of  dat  before  he  goes  away. 

HUTTON.  You  knew  he  left  for  Canada? 

WILLY.  (Defiantly)  I  told  him  to  go — to  ketch 
dat  scoundrel,  Leland.  But  before  he  goes,  he  says 
to  me:  "Papa,  I  took  three  t'ousand  dollars  von 
Harriet  tonighd.  But  I  don.d  vant  dat  she  shall 
lose  more  money  trou  dat  feller  Leland.  You  give 
dat  back  to  her,  und  tell  her  I  got  troubles."  Dat's 
de  truth,  und  don'd  you  fergit  it,  Mr.  Hutton.  (He 
takes  out  of  his  breast  pocket  the  roll  of  money 
RICHARD  has  given  him  in  the  preceding  Scene  and 
throws  it  deliberately  on  the  table  in  front  of  HUT- 
TON,)  Dere's  de  money  my  Theodore  gave  me. 
Count  it !  ( HUTTON  takes  up  the  bills  without  count 
ing  them.)  Now,  I  dank  you  for  dat  retscept,  Mr. 
Hutton.  (HUTTON  gives  WILLY  THEODORE'S  receipt. 
Then  WILLY  goes  up  to  door  L.C.  and  opens  it,  and 
turns  with  a  gesture  of  dismissal.  HUTTON  takes 
the  hint,  picks  up  his  hat  from  the  table  and  is  about 
to  exit,  but  turns  back  in  the  door.) 

HUTTON.  Mr.  Engel,  you  are  quite  right  to  resent 
my  negotiating  with  Mr.  Hellman  here  in  your  pres 
ence.  My  only  extenuation  is  that  I  was  overcome 
with  pain  and  mortification  at  the  discovery  of  what 
my  daughter  had  been  doing  behind  my  back.  When 
she  found  out  your  son  had  left  she  confessed  every 
thing.  And  I — well — perhaps  you  can  appreciate 
how  a  father  feels.  (He  sees  WILLY'S  granite  face; 
stops;  then  adds)  I'm  afraid  we  both  have  been 
mistaken  in  our  children. 

(WILLY,  without  looking  at  HUTTON,  stands  a  bit 
more  erect.  HUTTON  exits  L.C.  WILLY  closes 
the  door  after  him.  His  knees  weaken.  He  clings 
to  the  knob  and  pulls  himself  up.  He  turns, 


ACT  ii  OUR  CHILDREN  gi 

facing  the  audience — a  broken,  aged  man.  He 
puts  out  the  LIGHTS  by  turning  off  the  switch 
L.  of  sideboard.  This  leaves  only  the  lamp  on  the 
table  c.  burning,  and  the  small  lamp  on  desk 
up  L.  He  looks  at  the  receipt  in  his  hand,  dazed 
ly.  Then  he  comes  down  L.  of  table,  tearing 
the  receipt  slowly  to  bits.  The  torn  fragments 
fall  on  the  floor,  Then  he  feels  for  his  pipe  in 
his  coat  pocket,  takes  it  out  and  slowly  tamps  it.) 

ROSIE.  (Entering  from  the  French  windows) 
Uncle  Willy (WARN  Curtain.) 

f  WILLY.    (Turning)   Rosie ! 

ROSIE.   I've  seen  Theodore  again. 

WILLY.   When  ? 

ROSIE.  A  little  after  nine.  He  rang  the  bell  at 
our  house.  I  opened  the  door.  He  looked  as  if  some 
thing  terrible  had  happened  and  gave  me  this  for 
you.  (She  gives  WILLY  a  letter  and  then  continues) 
I  waited  outside  there  until  you  were  alone. 

(  WILLY  sinks  into  his  big  chair.  ROSIE  hastily  fixes 
the  lamp  for  him  and  hands  his  glasses  from 
the  table.  WILLY  has  opened  the  letter.  ROSIE 
leans  forward  anxiously.  WILLY  unconsciously 
includes  her  as  he  reads  the  letter.) 

WILLY.  (Reading)  "Dear  Papa — I  know  I'm  do 
ing  wrong — but  I  can't  shtay  here  and  see  you  face 
disgrace  because  of  me. — Carter  will  explain. — You 
can'd  do  anything  more  for  me. — You  won't  see  me 
again  'til  I've  made  good. — Your  son,  Theodore." 
(Broken)  Oh — my  boy 

ROSIE.  Is  that  all? 

WILLY.  (Looking  again  at  the  letter,  then  reads 
with  dawning  realisation)  "The  enclosed  three 
t'ousand  dollars  belongs  to  Harriet.  Blease  send  it 
to  her."  (WILLY  opens  an  enclosed  envelope  and 


92  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTII 

finds  the  three  one  thousand  dollar  bills.  He  rises 
with  a  triumphant  transfiguration  of  faith  in  his  son 
and  exclaims  with  a  cry)  You  see — he  wanted  to  do 
right ! !  I  knew  it,  Rosie ! !  You  see,  my  Theo 
dore  is  no  thief  ! !  Dank  Gott  f  er  dat !  Dank  Gott 
ferdat!! 

CURTAIN 


ACT  THREE 

SCENE:  The  scene  presents  WILLY'S  combined 
workshop  and  living-room.  The  quarters  ap 
pear  neat  but  very  constrained  in  contrast  to 
the  spacious  elegance  of  Act  L  There  is  a 
homespun,  modest,  thrifty  atmosphere  about  the 
place.  There  is  a  window  down  L.,  opening  on 
a  street.  This  is  a  rather  large  show-window 
with  boots  and  shoes  displayed  in  it.  On  this 
window  with  letters  reversed  is  the  sign  read 
ing  f(Willibald  Engel,  Custom  Shoemaker." 
The  window  shade  is  drawn,  and  it  is  seen  to  be 
winter  outside.  Up  R.c.  is  a  door  opening  into 
WILLY'S  bedroom. 

Up  L.C.  is  a  glass  door  opening  into  the  street. 
This  door  has  a  sign  upon  it,  reading  "Willi- 
bald  Engel,  Custom  Shoemaker."  Down  L. 
there  is  an  old-fashioned  shoemaker  s  bench 
with  tools,  bench-lamp,  bucket,  etc.  On  the  side 
of  the  wall  L.C.  is  hatrack  upon  which  hangs 
WILLY'S  blue  apron.  There  is  a  round  table 
with  a  red  cover  upon  it  near  R.C.  Toward  rear 
is  a  stove,  with  a  coal-scuttle  next  to  it.  Doivn 
R.  of  room  is  an  old-fashioned  bookcase  with  a 
desk  beneath.  On  wall  down  R.  is  an  old-fash 
ioned  clock.  There  are  also  shelves  on  which 
are  placed  letter  files.  Some  chairs  are  conven 
iently  placed.  On  the  wall  are  signs  advertising 
"Repairs"  and  "Shoes  Made  To  Order"  A  roll 
of  leather,  some  old  shoes  and  lasts  are  lying 
about  bench.  Up  L.C.  is  a  glass  showcase  and 
93 


94  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  in 

a  chair  in  front  of  it.  R.  of  table  is  WILLY'S  old 
chair  from  earlier  Act,  and  on  table  down  R.  is 
the  tobacco-jar  and  a  raw  potato.  There  is  a 
hanging  lamp  over  table  and  one  over  work 
bench.  The  room  is  not  untidy,  but  it  is  evident 
ly  too  small  for  its  double  purpose  of  living- 
room  and  workshop.  A  three-fold  screen  divides 
the  living  quarters  from  the  shop.  It  is  Decem 
ber  2$rd,  about  5  P.  M.,  two  years  after  the 
preceding  Act. 

As  the  Curtain  rises  CARTER  is  discovered 
seated  on  a  chair  L.  of  the  table  with  an  account 
book  before  him.  There  is  also  a  newspaper 
near  him.  CARTER  has  grown  older,  but  is  less 
nervous  in  his  manner.  He  turns  over  a  page 
and  checks  up  bills  in  his  old  capacity  as  WILLY'S 
confidential  book-keeper.  He  rises;  opens  the 
stove  and  puts  coal  into  it;  then  sits  down  again. 
He  opens  his  newspaper  and  glances  at  it  be 
fore  beginning  to  work.  The  door  L.C.  opens 
and  HERTHA  enters.  She  is  well-dressed  in 
winter  clothes  and  a  fur  coat.  She  comes  in  as 
if  she  had  been  accustomed  to  do  so  regularly. 
She  carries  a  muff,  three  holly  Christmas 
wreaths,  and  a  small  basket  of  holly  flowers. 
During  the  progress  of  the  scene  she  hangs  the 
wreaths  one  on  each  side  of  street  door  L.C. 
She  hangs  the  third  wreath  in  the  show  win 
dow  down  L.,  where  she  also  places  the  basket. 

HERTHA.    Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Carter. 

CARTER.  Good  afternoon.  (Glancing  at  clock) 
Aren't  you  early,  Mrs.  Hellman? 

HERTHA.  (She  takes  off  her  coat  and  hat  and 
hangs  it  on  hatrack  and  takes  sewing  out  of  her 
muff)  Yes,  Mr.  Carter.  Where  is  my  father? 

CARTER.  He  generally  works  as  long  as  there  is 
daylight,  but  he  went  out  right  after  lunch. 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  95 

HERTHA.   It's  very  cold.   He  oughtn't 

CARTER.  That's  what  I  told  him,  but  he  wanted 
to  attend  to  something  himself.  (Smiling)  And 
when  your  father  sets  his  mind  on  anything 

HERTHA.  I  know.  Did  Sophy  unpack  the  sheets 
and  things  I  sent? 

CARTER.  Yes,  m'am.  (HERTHA  opens  the^  door  to 
bedroom  up  R.C.  and  looks  in.  CARTER  pointing  to 
newspaper)  Did  you  see  your  father's  speech?  It's 
in  the  Boston  paper.  His  picture,  too.  There — un 
der  the  "Labor  Patriarch  in  Court." 

HERTHA.   I've  seen  it. 

CARTER.  And  you  sitting  by  him  in  the  Court 
room.  That  speech  saved  me  from  jail. 

HERTHA.  That's  behind  us  now.  (She  puts  kettle 
on  stove.) 

CARTER.   I  just  put  coal  on. 

HERTHA.  (Taking  up  her  sewing)  After  today  I 
may  not  be  able  to  be  here  so  regularly. 

CARTER.  Oh,  he'll  miss  you,  Mrs.  Hellman.  These 
last  two  weeks  he's  been  a  different  man. 

HERTHA.  I  know,  but  if  there's  anything  he  needs, 
I  trust  you  to  let  me  know  through  Sophy.  She'll 
come  here  every  morning  just  as  usual. 

CARTER.   Yes,  Mrs.  Hellman. 

HERTHA.  It's  hard  to  do  things  for  him,  but  he 
must  not  want  for  anything. 

HUTTON.  (Enters  L.C.  HUTTON  is  dressed  in  fur 
coat  and  rubs  his  hands  briskly  to  indicate  the  cold 
weather  outside)  Good  afternoon. 

HERTHA.    Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Hutton. 

HUTTON.  Father's  out,  I  gather? 

HERTHA.    He'll  be  back  shortly. 

CARTER.  (Rising)  Will  you  let  me  thank  you,  Mr. 
Hutton? 

HUTTON.  That's  all  right.  You  stick  by  Mr.  En- 
gel,  as  he  stuck  by  you,  and  you'll  make  no  mistake. 

CARTER.   You  may  be  sure  of  that. 


96  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTIII 

HUTTON.  I  just  dropped  around  to  get  my  bill. 
Short  accounts — long  friends.  (CARTER  goes  to  ta 
ble  down  R.  and  during  next  dialogue  gets  a  bill  on 
a  bill  file,  which  he  brings  to  HUTTON .) 

HERTHA.  You've  been  a  wonderful  friend  to 
father,  Mr.  Hutton. 

HUTTON.  Young  lady,  your  father  has  a  thing 
few  men  have  got  these  days.  He's  got  character. 
He  sits  like  a  Gibraltar  on  his  convictions.  He  may 
be  in  the  wrong.  At  times  I  thought  he  was.  But 
you've  got  to  respect  him,  even  if  you  disagree  with 
him.  (CARTER  comes  forward  with  bill.  HUTTON 
reading  the  bill}  "Four  pairs  shoes  to  order — eighty 
dollars."  (Taking  out  his  bill  case)  Receipt  that, 
please.  (CARTER  receipts  bill.  HUTTON  counts  out 
eighty  dollars  in  bills,  which  he  gives  to  CARTER, 
who  gives  him  a  receipted  bill,  which  HUTTON  puts 
carefully  into  his  pocket.  At  this  moment  WILLY 
enters  L.C.  in  overcoat  and  slouch  hat.  He  has  grown 
visibly  older,  but  is  still  the  fiery-hearted  man  he 
was  at  the  beginning  of  the  play.  He  carries  a  large 
box  under  his  arm.  He  is  very  tired,  but  as  soon  as 
he  sees  HUTTON  he  straightens  up.) 

HERTHA.   Oh,  here's  Father. 

WILLY.  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Hutton !  I  was  in  to 
see  you  at  the  bank.  (HERTHA  takes  the  box  from 
him  and  puts  it  on  table  under  hatrack.) 

HUTTON.  I  was  tending  to  some  Christmas  pur 
chases. 

WILLY.  (Referring  to  box)  Careful,  Hertha. 
(To  HUTTONJ  Take  a  seat. 

HUTTON.  (Sitting  L.  of  table)  How  are  you  to 
day? 

WILLY.  Elegant.  (HERTHA  helps  WILLY  off  with 
his  overcoat  and  hangs  it  up  on  hatrack  up  c.) 

HUTTON.    I  just  stepped  'round 

WILLY.  (Promptly)  I  don'd  make  no  more  shoes 
for  you  'til  Schpring.  You  could  be  a  tscentipede 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  97 

already.  (Takes  off  his  undercoat  which  he  likewise 
gives  to  HERTHA.  j 

HUTTON.  (Smiling)  Before  I  forget,  I  want  you 
to  measure  Stacey  and  Endicott  of  the  bank.  They'll 
be  in  to  see  you. 

WILLY.  (Putting  on  workman's  apron,  which 
HERTHA  gives  him)  Sure,  I  do.  (HERTHA  settles 
herself  near  window,  sewing  as  in  Act  I.) 

HUTTON.  (Stamping  his  feet)  I  told  them  that 
for  the  first  time  in  years  my  feet  are  comfortable. 

WILLY.  (Taking  up  chair  from  in  front  of  show 
case)  Dat's  very  nice  of  you.  How  is  it  mit  de 
daughter,  Harriet?  (He  brings  chair  down  L.  of, 
HUTTON.  CARTER  works  at  desk  over  L.J 

HUTTON.  I'm  going  to  Boston  tomorrow  to  spend 
Christmas  with  her  and  her  husband. 

WILLY.   (Sitting)  You  remember  me  to  her,  hah  ? 

HUTTON.   I  will. 

WILLY.  (Drawing  chair  close  to  HUTTON  j  You 
got  your  bail  back,  Mr.  Hutton?  (Indicates  CAR- 
TERj 

HUTTON.  Yes. 

WILLY.  You  see,  it  was  no  risk  at  all.  In  dese 
two  years  Carter  supports  his  family.  Oh,  I  heard 
von  your  Boston  man  dis  morning.  At  last  we  begin 
to  clean  up  the  case. 

HUTTON.  It  is  cleaned  up.  Pierce  and  the  credi 
tors  wanted  to  get  Leland.  That's  why  they  post 
poned  so  long.  They  saw  that  you'd  been  made  a 
victim  by  that  scoundrel,  and  they  knew  what  you 
had  given  up  to  make  a  settlement. 

WILLY.  'Senough!  It  was  my  mistake  at  de  be 
ginning,  und  so  I  paid  mit  every  tscent  I  got  to  keep 
my  Theodore's  name  and  make  as  decent  failure  I 
can. 

HUTTON.  Any  man  in  Lynn  could  testify  to  your 
integrity,  but  Leland  fooled  us  all. 


98  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  in 

WILLY.  (Grimly)  Yah — I  wished  he'd  blowed 
out  his  brains  before  we  met  him. 

HUTTON.  Things  must  be  going  well  with  your 
son. 

WILLY.   Oh,  he  gets  along. 

HUTTON.   What's  he  doing  now? 

WILLY.  (Shaking  his  head,  perplexed)  Oh,  Mr. 
Hutton — hah — someding  mit  ranches  und  a  tannery, 
und  a  contract  for  de  hides.  Here  shtands  it  in  de 
letter.  (Gives  a  letter  to  HUTTON,  which  he  takes 
out  of  his  apron  pocket.) 

HUTTON.  (Reading)  "Dear  Rosie:"  (He  looks 
up)  I  beg  your  pardon. 

WILLY.  (With  an  embarrassed  laugh,  taking  the 
letter)  Dat's  Rosie's  letter.  She  brings  it  to  me. 
My  Theodore  writes  now  every  week  to  me  und 
Rosie.  (Hurrying,  embarrassed  over  the  first  part 
of  letter)  I  don't  undershtand  all  dat — but  here  at 
de  bottom  it  says:  "Love  to  Pop."  I  know  where 
it  is  mitoud  looking.  (Putting  on  his  spectacles) 
But  I  like  to  read  it  just  the  same.  See — dere  shtands 
it:  "Love  to  Pop."  Dat  I  undershtand! 

HUTTON.   Yes.  That's  beautiful. 

WILLY.  (Warmly  correcting  HUTTON,)  'Swonder- 
ful!  (Folding  ROSIE'S  letter  tenderly)  Hah,  Rosie, 
she's  a  wonderful  girl — elegant  brought  up. 

HUTTON.  Yes,  she  is. 

WILLY.  (Philosophically)  You  know  I  some 
times  dink  that  my  friend  Stasi  was  de  best  fadder 
fon  all  three  of  us,  and  he  ain't  no  fader  at  all. 
Dat's  de  joke!  How  dat  happens,  Mr.  Hutton? 

HUTTON.  You  were  too  indulgent.  I  was  too 
strict.  He  was  just  right. 

WILLY.  (Genially)  But  you  can't  spoil  good  stock 
no  matter  vat  you  do.  Dey  turn  out  all  right  any 
way. 

HUTTON.  I  should  say  that  things  are  going  won 
derfully  well  with  your  son. 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  99 

WILLY.  (Proudly)  Yah — he  sends  now  fifty  dol 
lars  every  week  to  Pierce  out  of  his  salary  for  di's 
whole  year. 

HUTTON.  I  know  that.  Pierce  said  that  he  was 
making  good. 

WILLY.   I  betcher! 

HUTTON.  But  a  man  must  have  some  capital  to 
send  twelve  thousand  dollars  in  a  lump  to  his  cred 
itors.  (HERTHA  makes  a  movement.) 

WILLY.    (Surprised)   Who  sents  dat? 

HUTTON.  Pierce  got  a  certified  check,  signed 
"Theodore  Engel,"  from  the  Missoula  bank.  (HER 
THA  rises  with  immense  relief  and  exits  R.c.J 

WILLY.  (Perplexed)  Yah.  Dot's  his  bank. 

Twelf  t'ousand  dollars (To  HUTTON )  W'en  it 

comes? 

HUTTON.  It  arrived  this  morning.  Pierce  and  the 
committee  divided  it.  That  brings  the  settlement  up 
to  a  hundred  cents  on  the  dollar.  The  case  is  closed. 

WILLY.  (Fervently)  Dank  Gott!  Hertha,  you 
hear? 

HUTTON.    I  thought  you  knew. 

WILLY.  Not  a  word.  But  dot's  de  way  my  Theo 
dore  does  dings.  Efferybody  sees  his  foolishness! 
But  nobody  knows  de  fine  dings  vat  he  does !  (HER 
THA  re-enters  R.c.  with  a  lighted  lamp,  which  she. 
puts  on  the  window-sill  down  L.  Then  she  sits  by 
it  and  sews.) 

HUTTON.  Well,  I  must  be  off.  (Rising)  I  am 
sure  this  will  be  a  very  happy  Christmas  for  you  all. 
I  wish  you  many  of  them  to  come. 

WILLY.  (Rising  and  taking  his  chair  again  to  its 
place  in  front  of  showcase)  The  same  to  you. 

CARTER.    (Rising)   The  same  to  you. 

HERTHA.    I  wish  you  the  same,  Mr.  Hutton. 

WILLY.  Come  soon  again,  Mr.  Hutton.  Goodbye, 
Mr.  Hutton.  (Ad  lib.  He  closes  L.C.  door  after 
HUTTQN'S  exit  and  comes  down  to  CARTER  at  back 


ioo  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  in 

of  table  c.  under  the  lamp.  He  puts  his  hand  en 
thusiastically  on  CARTER'S  shoulder)  Well,  Carter, 
come  here !  De  case  ish  closed !  We  own  de  air  we 
breathe !  We  git  a  credit  face,  und  we  kin  look  'em 
in  de  eyes  once  more!  (He  takes  flat  pocket-book 
out  of  his  back  pocket.) 

CARTER.  (Showing  the  newspaper)  The  Boston 
paper's  got  your  speech. 

WILLY.  (Pleased)  Yah?  Is  it  possible?  Yah, 
dere  shtands  it  in  de  paper.  (Looking  at  it  closely 
under  the  lamp)  Say,  who's  dat  old  feller  sitting 
dere? 

CARTER.  That's  supposed  to  be  you. 

WILLY.  Dot's  a  disgrace!  I  ain't  as  old  as  dat. 
(He  looks  at  it  again.) 

CARTER.  But  for  you,  I  might  have  spent  this 
Christmas  day  in  jail. 

WILLY.  (While  glancing  at  the  paper)  Pst! 
'Senough !  I  don'd  fergit  de  fif deen  years  you 
worked  for  me.  Like  all  de  younk  fellers  dese  days, 
you  got  beduzzled  mit  git-rich-quick  und  dat  feller 
Leland.  You  know  better  now.  Und  you  got  chil 
dren,  Carter.  I  gif  you  my  word !  I  tought  of  dem, 
w'en  I  shpoke  yesterday  fer  you.  I'm  prout  dat  not 
one  of  de  men  dat  worked  fer  me  has  suffered. 
Yah,  Willy  Engel's  workmen  all  got  chobs.  You 
might  have  hard  time  getting  seddled;  so  I  took 
you  here  mit  me.  I  can'd  pay  you  your  old  salary. 
But  if  I  keep  you  here  mit  me,  dot's  de  besht  proof 
to  efferybody  of  w'at  I  dink  of  you.  So  not  a  sound 
more !  Here !  (Taking  money  from  his  pocket-book) 
I  met  Stanley  on  the  shtreet.  He  paid  me.  Send 
him  a  retscept  mit  danks. 

CARTER.   And  Mr.  Hutton  paid  his  bill. 

WILLY.  (Going  to  R.C.  door)  Eighty  dollars — 
hah? 

CARTER.  Yes,  Mr.  Engel.  (WILLY  exits  R.C.  At 
this  point  STASI  comes  into  the  room  excitedly  from 


ACT  m  OUR  CHILDREN  101 

L.C.  He  is  evidently  full  of  a  plan.  He  is  dressed  in 
a  fur  coat  with  a  muffler  over  his  ears.  He  also 
wears  rubbers.) 

STASI.   It's  all  right,  I  think ! 

HERTHA.  (Going  to  him  quickly)  Psch!  (STASI 
looks  toward  bedroom.  HERTHA  helps  him  out  of  his 
coat  and  hangs  it  on  the  rack.) 

HERTHA.  (Secretly,  during  the  above  business) 
Uncle  Stasi,  the  check  for  twelve  thousand  dollars 
arrived  this  morning.  I  heard  Mr.  Hutton  say  so. 
Father  thinks  that  Theodore  sent  it. 

STASI.  Rosie  waits  at  home  for  a  telegram.  In  a 
little  while  leave  me  alone  with  him. 

HERTHA.  (Looking  around  the  room)  I  can't 
bear  to  have  him  here  alone. 

STASI.   I'll  make  him  go  home  with  you. 

HERTHA.   But  he's  so  stubborn. 

STASI.  I  know — but  not  when  you  know  how  to 
handle  him. 

HERTHA.   But  who  knows  how  to  handle  him? 

STASI.  (Confidently)  I  do.  You  leave  it  to  me.  I 
fix  it.  You  all  go  the  wrong  way  about  it.  Now,  I 
got  a  plan.  I  know  just  exactly  what  I'm  going  to 
say  to  him.  After  all,  he  listens  to  nobody  but  me. 
(WILLY  enters  R.c.j  Hallo,  Willy 

WILLY.  (Genially)  Hallo,  Stasi.  Sit  down  a 
minnit.  (To  CARTER,)  Here,  shtep  into  that  jeweler 
shtore,  und  pay  dis  twenty  dollars  on  my  Theodore's 
account.  Dat  settles  dat  account  in  full.  (Gives  him 
money.) 

'CARTER.  Yes,  Mr.  Engel. 

WILLY.  Den  you  come  back,  und  we  finish  de 
trial-balance.  (CARTER  gathers  up  some  papers  and 
puts  them  on  desk  R.C.  WILLY  sees  STASI  examining 
a  shoe  on  the  shoemakers  iron  stand  near  his  bench) 
Stasi,  I  finish  Rosie's  shoes  tonighd  yet.  (He  turns 
to  papers  on  table.) 

STASI.    Plenty  of  time. 


102  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTIII 

WILLY.    (With  his  habitual  gesture)    All  right! 

STASI.  (Likeivise)  All  right !  (He  plumps  down 
on  a  stool  over  L.  and  begins  to  take  off  his  rubbers.) 

WILLY.  (Looking  up  from  his  papers  suddenly) 
Stasi — I  told  you,  you  don'd  need  rubbers  mit  my 
shoes!  No  water  pays  rent  in  de  shoes  I  make! 
Dot's  no  Guinea  work  you  got. 

STASI.  (Promptly  argumentative)  Willy,  because 
I  wear  de  shoes  you  make,  I  don'd  have  to  slip  on 
de  sidewalk  und  break  my  neck,  do  I  ? 

WILLY.    I  don'd  slip,  and  I'm  older  as  you ! 

STASI.  All  right ! 

WILLY.  All  right !  (He  takes  another  receipt  from 
his  pocket  and  gives  it  to  CARTER,  who  comes  to 
ward  him  behind  table)  Carter,  file  dat  away.  Forty- 
tseven  dollars  fifty  tscents. 

STASI.  (Rising  and  coming  to  him)  Say,  Willy, 
what  do  you  do  at  the  Crown  Hotel? 

WILLY.    (Closing  all  discussion)    Nodding. 

STASI.  You  were  there  dis  afternoon,  dey  told  me. 

WILLY.  Well,  if  Nosey's  got  to  know,  I  paid  a 
bill.  I  jusht  seddle  an  accound  mit  de  Crown  Hotel. 

Look (Taking  the  receipt  from  CARTER  again 

and  showing  it  to  STASI,  who  begins  to  examine  it) 
Paid  in  full,  retsept. 

STASI.   What  for? 

WILLY.  (Pulling  it  away  and^  giving  it  back  to 
CARTER,)  My  Theodore  gave  a  liddle  supper  pardy 
dere  two  years  ago.  Someding  mit  de  ladies  of  de 
"Moonlight  Maids  Combany."  He  alvays  was  musi 
cal,  you  know.  He  gits  dat  von  his  fader. 

STASI.  (Irritated)  But,  Willy,  when  are  you  go 
ing  to  stop  that  nonsense  ? 

WILLY.   W'at  nonsense!? 

STASI.  Paying  off  Theodore's  bills. 

WILLY.  I  shtop  in  a  liddle  while — w'en  dere  all 
paid.  (CARTER  has  got  into  his  overcoat  which  he 
takes  from  hatrack  and  exits  L.C.  shortly.) 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  103 

STASI.  Why  don't  Theodore  pay  those  bills  him 
self? 

WILLY.  (Boastfully)  You  dink  maybe  he  can't! 
Hah?  (With  mock  modesty)  Hah,  my  Theodore 
jusht  sends  a  little  item  of  twelf  t'ousand  dollars  mit 
a  tsertified  check  to  Boshton  to  close  up  de  case. 

STASI.  (Affecting  surprise)  You  don't  say  so! 
(With  a  look  to  HERTHA,)  That's  a  great  surprise. 

WILLY.    Now  what  you  got  to  say? 

STASI.    Nothing. 

WILLY.  Dat  settles  de  Leland  case  in  full — one 
hundred  tsents  on  de  dollar!  Und  I  should  worry 
him  mit  dese  liddle  bills.  Dot's  my  pleasure  to  pay 
dem.  He  shall  owe  me — not  de  odder  fellers. 

STASI.  (Irritated)  But  in  the  meantime  here  you 
are,  working  and  slaving 

WILLY.  Shtill !  Don'd  arg'  mit  me !  I  pay  you  de 
interesht  on  w'at  I  owe  you,  don'd  I  ? 

STASI.    That  ain't  the  question! 

WILLY.  (Tenderly)  You  help  me  shtart  in  busi 
ness  here.  I  don'd  fergit  dat,  Stasi.  (Change  to  ag 
gressiveness)  But  you  mustn't  dink  because  I  owe 
you  money,  I  musht  do  alvays  w'at  you  say. 

STASI.  (Growing  nervous)  I  don'd  speak  no  more 
about  it.  You  are  more  stubborn  now  than  you  ever 
were. 

WILLY.   (Looks  at  his  accounts  again)   All  right ! 

STASI.   All  right!    (He  sits  L.  of  table  R.cJ 

WILLY.  (Attempting  to  conciliate  STASI,)  Dere's 
de  paber.  You  can  read  aboud  de  case.  (Pointing) 
Dere  shtands  it. 

STASI.    (Taking  up  paper  from  table)   I  saw  it. 

WILLY.  (Looking  at  the  paper  over  STASI'S  shoul 
der)  Und  did  you  see  de  uggely  muck  dey  put  on 
my  Hertha?  I'd  like  to  sue  dem  fellers!  Dot's  a 
artist — nit !  My  Hertha  nefr" er  hat  a  mout  like  dat — 
neffer  in  her  life !  (At  this  point  HERTHA  has  risen 
from  her  seat  and  has  come  toward  c.  She  is  on  her 


104  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTIII 

way  to  fix  coffee  at  the  stove.  As  WILLY  says  the 
last  line  of  this  speech,  he  turns,  sees  HERTHA, 
pinches  her  cheek  affectionately  and  then  crosses  her 
to  go  to  bench  down  L.  for  some  tools  and  a  shoe 
upon  which  he  is  working.  He  is  humming  a  snatch 
of  his  old  song.  Behind  WILLY'S  back  STASI  says  to 
HERTHA  nervously) 

STASI.  I  fix  it  now.  (Then  STASI  motions  HERTHA 
to  leave  them.  WILLY  is  over  at  the  bench  selecting 
tools.  HERTHA  puts  coffee  pot  on  the  stove  and  pre 
pares  to  leave.  Assuming  a  commonplace  tone) 
Willy,  come  over  here  and  sit  down  a  minute.  I 
want  to  talk  with  you. 

WILLY.  Go  ahead,  I  listen.  (He  promptly  begins 
to  sing.  He  has  picked  up  a  shoe  with  a  large  sole 
nailed  on  it,  which  during  the  next  scene  he  cuts 
down  to  the  proper  size.  He  has  also  picked  up  a 
shoemaker's  knife.  HERTHA  goes  to  hatrack  up  c. 
for  her  hat  and  coat,  which  she  puts  on  during  the 
early  part  of  following  dialogue.  WILLY  still  hums 
the  old  song  as  he  goes  from  the  bench  to  his  posi 
tion  behind  the  table  R.c.j 

STASI.  Willy,  if  things  go  so  good  with  Theodore, 
you  ought  to  take  it  a  little  easier. 

WILLY.  (Examining  the  shoe  under  the  lamp) 
Righd  here,  where  I  make  my  failure,  I  make  goot 
again.  Hertha,  w'at's  de  matter  mit  dat  lamp? 

HERTHA.  It's  up  as  far  as  it  will  go,  Papa. 

WILLY.  So. 

STASI.  (Nervously)  I  don't  say  anything  any 
more,  but  you  shouldn't  work  in  the  night-timz, 
Willy. 

WILLY.  I  losht  anodder  day  von  de  bench.  I  hat 
to  go  to  Boshton  yesterday  on  dat  Leland's  case. 

STASI.  (Indicating  WILLY'S  difficulty  in  seeing) 
But  your  eyes- 

WILLY.   {Aggressively)  What's  de  matter  mit  my 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  105 

eyes?  Dey  lasht  as  long  as  I  do.   (Noticing  HERTHA 
in  her  coat)    Hertha,  where  you  go? 

HERTHA.  (Finding  an  excuse)  Sophy  forgot 
cream  for  the  coffee.  I'll  just  slip  to  the  corner  and 
get  some. 

WILLY.   But  you  come  back  again? 

HERTHA.   Right  away. 

WILLY.    (Tenderly)    Goodbye. 

HERTHA.  (Waving  her  hand)  Goodbye.  (STASI, 
unseen  by  WILLY,  makes  a  gesture  to  HERTHA  to 
get  out.  She  exits  L.C.  WILLY  sits  in  his  chair  R.  of 
table  and  starts  to  work  cutting  down  the  sole  of  the 
shoe.  During  the  ensuing  scene  STASI  betrays  great 
nervousness.  He  makes  several  different  attempts 
in  different  ways  to  persuade  WILLY,  and  at  every 
defeat  he  becomes  more  irascible.) 

WILLY.  Ach,  I  tell  you — Hertha,  she's  a  wonder 
ful  girl. 

STASI.   You  know  I  always  said 

WILLY.  (Interrupting)  I  know  w'at  you  always 
said !  Say  someding  new. 

STASI.  All  right ! 

WILLY.    All  right!    (He  works.) 

STASI.  (Fidgetting,  not  knowing  how  to  attack 
the  question)  Say,  Willy 

WILLY.  Hah 

STASI.  (Taking  out  two  cigars)  You  smoke  a  lit 
tle  cigar? 

WILLY.  (Looking  at  the  cigar,  lovingly)  No,  dank 
you. 

STASI.  (Pressing  him  cordially)  Come,  Willy. 
You  can  smoke  that  with  understanding — fifty  cents. 

WILLY.  No,  dank  you.  I  radder  schmoke  de  pipe. 
It's  better  w'en  you  work.  (He  takes  up  his  pipe 
from  the  table.) 

STASI.  (Biting  his  cigar,  grumbling)  No  cigars — 
no  pinochle — not  even  a  little  glass  of  wine  you  take 


io6  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTIII 

with  me  any  more  like  we  used  to.  Say — that's  no 
life. 

WILLY.  (During  above,  has  risen  and  gone  to  cup 
board  down  R.  and  brings  the  tobacco-jar  and  the 
potato)  I  don'd  care  really  fer  dem  dings. 

STASI.    What  pleasure  have  you  got  in  life? 

WILLY.  (Opening  tobacco-jar)  Retsepts  fer 
bills !  Dot's  my  pleasure.  (He  stands  R.  of  table  and 
starts  to  cut  the  potato  into  pieces  and  throw  them 
into  the  tobacco-jar.) 

STASI.  (Nettled)  Not  one  time  in  your  life  did 
you  ever  listen  to  me! 

WILLY.  You  got  wrong.  I  lishten  to  efferybody. 
Dot's  my  trouble. 

STASI.  Yah,  you  listen!  But  that's  all  you  do  do! 
In  one  ear  and  out  by  the  other.  Not  once  in  your 
life  did  you  ever  do  like  I  told  you ! 

WILLY.   (Calmly)   Ish  dat  so? 

STASI.  (Bursting)  Look  now!  For  years  I  try 
to  make  you  put  water  on  that  sponch,  and  yet  you 
always  put  potatoes  in  it !  Why  don't  you  try  it  once 
with  water? 

WriLLY.  I  got  goot  reasons. 

STASI.    (Insistently)    W7hy?  Tell  me  why? 

WILLY.   Because  I  vant  to. 

STASI.   Yah,  that's  a  reason! 

WILLY.  Yah,  shure  it  is.  I  do  it  my  way. 

STASI.  Ach,  all  right!  (He  turns  away;  crosses 
his  legs.) 

WILLY.  All  right! 

STASI.  (Turning  back  again,  irritated  at  himself, 
and  re-crossing  his  legs)  I  didn't  want  to  commence 
to  begin  to  speak  about  that  thing  at  all ! ! 

WILLY.  Den  why  did  you  did  it  ?  (Sits  and  lights 
his  pipe.  Nervous  business  for  STASI.  Pause.  They 
smoke.  WILLY  works.) 

STASI.  (Picking  up  ledger  on  the  table)  Carter 
makes  up  a  trial-balance,  hah? 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  107 

WILLY.   We  finish  it  tonighd  yet. 

STASI.   And  things  go  good? 

WILLY.  (Proudly)  I  betcher!  If  I  wasn't  over 
sixty,  I'd  show  dem  fellers  yet  in  de  shoe  bushiness. 

STASI.   Why  don't  you  get  yourself  a  workman? 

WILLY.  I  kin  use  de  money  better  effery  week 
myself.  (Re minis cently)  Und,  anyvay,  dere  ish  no 
hant  workmen  any  more  like  in  de  old  times.  Nix. 
(Pause.  He  looks  up  from  his  work  and  says) 
Stasi,  de  case  ish  closed.  At  last  my  Theodore  pays 
off  even  dat  Leland  schwindle.  A  hundert  tscents  on 
de  dollar ! 

STASI.    (Matter  of  fact  tone)    Fine ! 

WILLY.  (Amazed)  Dot's  all  you  got  to  say  w'en 
my  Theodore ? 

STASI.  (Nervously)  If  I  was  more  surprised, 
you'd  get  angry  because  I  didn't  expect  Theodore 
would  do  more! 

WILLY.  All  right! 

STASI.  All  right !  (They  smoke.  WILLY  works  at 
the  shoe,  filing  and  scraping.  STASI  grows  more  ir 
ritable  and  more  anxious,  as  he  sees  he  is  getting  no 
further.  STASI  is  about  to  speak  when  WILLY  begins 
singing  and  humming  his  old  song  again.  This  time 
he  goes  entirely  through  the  melody  while  working.) 

WILLY.  (Stops  to  say,  reflectively)  Stasi,  I  ofden 
dink  now  it's  de  besht  ding  dat  could  heppen  dat  my 
Theodore  went  Wesht. 

STASI.   Why? 

WILLY.  Oud  dere  maybe  he  fergits  all  dose  col- 
litch  etchikashuns.  You  know  dot  was  de  beginning. 
Dose  collitches !  My  Theodore  was  all  righd  before 
he  went  to  collitch. 

STASI.   Lots  of  good  people  come  from  college. 

WILLY.  I  don'd  believe  it !  You  didn't  went  to  col 
litch— Hutton  didn't—/  didn't— Hertha  didn't  hat 
no  collitch  etchikashun (He  works  at  shoe.) 

STASI.  No — all  right (Shifts  nervously;  looks 


io8  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTIII 

at  his  watch;  finally  rises  in  anxiety  and  moves  ~L.) 

WILLY.  Say !  Wat's  de  matter  mit  you  ?  Mensch, 
hast  kei'  Sitzfleisch?  Why  you  dence  around  for? 

STASI.  (Turning  and  blurting  out)  Ach,  what's 
the  use  we  beat  around  de  bush?!  You  cant  live 
this  way  any  more ! 

WILLY.  (Putting  down  tools  and  taking  off  his 
glasses)  I  knew  someding  was  coming!  Mit  your 
fif  dy  tscents  cigars ! 

STASI.  (Dictatorially)  You  must  go  home  with 
Hertha! 

WILLY.  (Putting  down  the  shoe  decidedly)  Now 
we  got  it ! 

STASI.    Willy,  how  do  you  think  she  feels? 

WILLY.  I  told  you  I  make  trouble  anough  mit  her 
und  Richard;  so  I  keep  away.  Not  a  sound  more! 

STASI.    But  why,  Willy?    Whyf 

WILLY.  (Rising,  obstinately)  I  don'd  want  nod 
ding  to  do  mit  Richard!  Dot's  why!  (Goes  R.; 
stands  with  his  back  to  STASI  J 

STASI.  You  must  not  be  stubborn.  I  know,  Willy. 
It's  hard  for  us  to  forgive  those  people  that  we  have 
hurt. 

WILLY.  (After  a  pause  of  comprehension)  All 
righd — I  hurt  him.  But  dat's  bushiness.  De  big  fish 
eat  de  liddle  fish.  I  tried  to  eat  up  Richard.  He  was 
a  big  fish,  und  I  didn't  know  it.  Dot  was  my  mish- 
take.  I  pay  fer  it.  I  maybe  bite  him  a  liddle,  but  I 
choked  myself.  He  schwims  away,  und  I  went  to 
de  bottom — fer  a  while. 

STASI.   But  at  your  age! 

WILLY.  (Interrupting  violently)  I'm  glat  dat  it 
goes  goot  mit  him  fer  Hertha  und  de  children's  sake, 
und  dat's  enough!  I  don'd  ask  anybody  for  any- 
ding.  I  git  along.  I  work ! 

STASI.   That  ain't  the  question !  I  see  you  work ! ! 

WILLY.  Den  w'at  elset  you  want!?  Everybody 
can'd  be  a  capitalisht  like  you 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  109 

STASI.    (Promptly)   I'm  a  Socialist! 

WILLY.   No — no !  We  don'd  begin  on  dat,  blease ! 

STASI.   All  right ! 

WILLY.  All  right ! 

STASI.  But,  Willy,  I  ask  you  why  do  you  always 
feel  this  way  about  Richard  and  his  patents?  He's 
a  hard  worker 

WILLY.   Und  did  I  say  he  wasn't? 

STASI.    Don't  interrupt  me! 

WILLY.    Den  don't  arg'  mit  me  about  Richard! 

STASI.  Richard's  patents  do  lots  of  good  to  lots  of 
people ! 

WILLY.   Dey  done  me  no  goot ! 

STASI.  That's  not  the  question !  The  world  moves 
forwards! 

WILLY.    The  world  goes  'round  und  'round ! 

STASI.    (At  his  wits'  end)    What  for  we  argue!? 

WILLY.  (Continuing)  Und  for  my  part  Richard 
can  make  now  all  de  patents  w'at  he  likes !  (Proudly) 
One  ding  he  cant  do! 

STASI.    Nu — what  ? — what  ? 

WILLY.  (Indomitably  picking  up  shoe  from  table 
again)  Richard  can'd  patent  a  machine  dot  makes  a 
hant-made  shoe ! ! 

STASI.   Ach,  Willy— what's  the  use  I  talk !  ? 

WILLY.  It's  no  use!  (Enter  HERTHA  L.C.,  carry 
ing  a  small  bottle  of  cream.  They  do  not  notice  her.) 

STASI.  (Losing  utter  control  of  himself  and 
speaking  very  loudly)  A  ox,  you  are,  Willy !  Ever 
since  you  were  a  boy,  you  was  a  ox  1 1 

WILLY.  (Likewise)  If  you  wasn't  such  a  ox  your 
self,  you  would  have  knowed  dat  fifty  years  ago ! ! 

STASI.    (Yelling)    All  right! 

WILLY.  (Yelling  back)  All  right!  (This  is  the 
most  angry  dialogue  in  the  play  between  them.) 

STASI.  (Turning  to  HERTHA,  as  he  walks  azvay 
from  WILLY  j  Maybe  you  can  speak  with  him — I 
can't  any  more !  (HERTHA  has  hung  up  her  coat.  She 


i  io  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  in 

crosses  to  behind  table.  STASI  goes  up  L.,  puffing 
violently  on  his  cigar.) 

WILLY.  (Sulkily,  as  he  starts  to  go  toward  STASI) 
You  tell  your  Uncle  Stasi  he  should  leave  me  alone ! 

HERTHA.  (Tenderly  stopping  him  and  turning 
him  toward  door  R.cJ  Wash  up,  Papa.  Coffee  will 
be  ready.  (WILLY  glares  at  STASI,  who  has  got  on 
the  other  side  of  the  screen  up  c.) 

WILLY.  Mit  effery  day  anodder  argiment!  (STASI 
blows  out  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  makes  his  f(all  right" 
gesture.) 

HERTHA.  (Turning  him  again  toward  bedroom) 
Yes,  Papa.  Now  hurry.  (She  gets  coffee  service, 
cups,  etc.,  from  cupboard  down  R.j 

WILLY.  (Has  gone  up  to  door  R.C.  He  turns,  still 
sulkily)  Stasi,  better  you  shtay  fer  coffee.  Den 
maybe  you  feel  better,  hah? 

STASI.   (Angrily)   Thank  you,  I  feel  all  right ! 

WILLY.   I'm  glat ! ! 

STASI.  All  right!! 

WILLY.  All  right!!  (He  exits  R.C.  HERTHA  is 
busied  setting  the  table  and  arranging  three  cups  and 
saucers.  As  soon  as  WILLY  is  off  she  turns  eagerly 
to  STASI,  who  is  still  fuming.) 

HERTHA.    (Humorously)    Well?   Did  you  fix  it? 

STASI.  (Coming  to  table,  after  looking  around 
screen  to  see  if  WILLY  is  off)  Ach!  He  wouldn't 
let  me  say  a  word.  (Sits  L.  of  table.) 

HERTHA.  (Excitedly)  I  telephoned  home.  There 
was  a  telegram  from  Albany.  (Pours  out  coffee.) 

STASI.  (Taking  out  a  big  handkerchief,  which 
he  puts  over  his  knee  for  a  napkin)  Und ? 

HERTHA.  Richard  will  do  everything  as  I  have  ar 
ranged. 

STASI.  (With  nervous  eagerness)  What  time  does 
he  arrive? 

HERTHA.  Six-ten.  (STASI  consults  watch.  WILLY 
is  heard  humming  off  R.cJ 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  in 

STASI.  Well,  I  take  my  coffee  and  go  back  to  the 
store.  And  then  I  meet  him  at  the  station. 

HERTHA.  (Pointing  to  door  up  L.C.)  And  if  that 
blind  is  up,  then  come  right  in.  We'll  have  to  risk 
it.  (The  door  R.c.  opens.  WILLY  enters,  drying  his 
hands  and  singing.) 

WILLY.  (Stops  in  his  song;  looks  over  his  glasses 
quizzically  to  STASIJ  All  over  your  bat  temper, 
Stasi?  (STASI  attempts  to  grumble.  WILLY  laughs 
coaxingly.  Then  they  BOTH  laugh,  as  WILLY  sits 
down  R.  of  table.  HERTHA  helps  him  to  coffee;  then 
helps  herself.) 

STASI.  Oh — here's  your  new  business  card,  Willy. 
(He  takes  a  card  from  his  pocket  and  hands  it  to 
WILLY  across  the  table)  What  do  you  think  of  it? 

WILLY.  (Adjusting  his  glasses)  I  have  a  look. 
(Reading)  "Willibald  Engel,  Custom  Shoemaker, 
fer  Men  and  Women."  (He  looks  up)  Where's  de 
children  ? 

STASI.   You  want  them  too? 

WILLY.  Yah,  shure! 

STASI.  (Gulping  his  coffee)  All  right,  we  put  'em 
in. 

WILLY.  (Continuing  to  read)  "All  hant  work. 
One-fordy-tseven  Vine  Street,  Lynn.  (Passes  it 
back)  Dot's  all  righd.  You  make  two  t'ousand  right 
avay. 

STASI.   After  the  holidays. 

WILLY.  (Pointing  to  card)  Vait.  Put  down  here 
"Saddisfaction  guaranteed."  Und  make  dot  "All 
hant  work"  as  big  as  possible. 

STASI.  As  big  as  you  like.  (He  crosses  for  his 
coat.  HERTHA  rises  and  helps  him.  WILLY  hums 
and  drinks  coffee.) 

WILLY.  (Seeing  STASI  getting  into  his  overcoat 
up  L.C.)  W'at's  de  hurry? 

STASI.    (Nervously)    Oh — it's  getting  late. 

WILLY.    Say,  Stasi,  you  come  back  again  after 


ii2  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTHI 

dinner.  We  tscelebrate  de  new  trial-balance  mit  a 
liddle  game  of  pinochle,  hah? 

STASI.    Yah.    (Then  a  wink  to  HERTHAJ    Maybe. 

WILLY.  (Mischievously)  Dot  ish,  if  you  don't 
break  your  neck ! 

STASI.    (Nettled)   Why  shall  I  break  my  neck? 

WILLY.  You  fergit  your  rubbers.  (He  points  to 
STASI'S  rubbers  lying  down  L.) 

STASI.  (Seeing  them  on  the  floor)  I  try  it  once 
mitoud  them. 

WILLY.   All  right! 

STASI.    All  right!    (Exits  L.c.J 

WILLY.  (Laughs)  Das  ist  ein  Kerl!  (HERTHA 
sits  L.  of  table,  sewing  again.  As  soon  as  STASI  is 
off,  WILLY  makes  for  the  pasteboard  box  lying  on 
table  under  hatrack)  Come,  Hertha.  I  show  you 
now.  Jusht  wait. 

HERTHA.  Papa,  have  you  been  buying  something 
else  for  the  children? 

WILLY.   Nah — na — psch — it's  nodding. 

HERTHA.  Papa.   (Ad  lib.) 

WILLY.  Schtill!  Not  a  sound  more!  (HERTHA 
hushes.  He  opens  box)  I  waited  'til  efter  Stasi 
goes,  so  he  don't  fight  mit  me  again  und  lecture  me. 

HERTHA.   You'll  spoil  those  children. 

WILLY.  No.  You  got  wrong  dis  time,  Hertha.  I 
don'd  believe  in  shpoiling  boys.  Dis  is  for  exer 
cise.  (He  takes  out  two  big  jumping- jacks)  You 
see,  you  pull  de  shtring  und  dey  jump — just  like 
your  Uncle  Stasi.  (He  shows  how  they  work) 
'Swonderful!  Dot's  a  fine  exercise,  no?  (HERTHA 
laughs.)  Und  I  was  careful,  Hertha.  I  buy  de  kind 
of  paind  don'd  come  off.  (Business  of  moistening 
his  finger  and  rubbing  the  toy)  You  see :  'Smade  in 
Chermany!  The  children  alvays  dink  it's  someding 
to  eat.  You  give  dose  to  de  boys  von  Grandpapa. 
(Puts  them  back  into  box  and  goes  to  his  chair  R.  of 
table.) 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  113 

HERTHA.  They'll  be  delighted.  (Puts  box  under 
table.) 

WILLY.  Ah,  you  remember  yet  how  my  Theodore 
loved  dose  chumping-chacks  ? 

HERTHA.  Yes. 

WILLY.  (Sitting)  Dot  liddle  Willy, — he  gits  to 
look  more  like  my  Theodore  mit  effery  day.  (He 
takes  up  coffee  cup  and  starts  to  drink.) 

HERTHA.    I  thought  he  looked  like  you. 

WILLY.  (Pleased)  You  dink  so?  Well,  maybe-^- 
(He  slides  down  into  his  chair.  Pause.  He  suddenly 
says  very  tenderly)  Und  you  git  to  look  more  like 
your  modder  effery  day.  Hah,  w'en  I  look  avay,  I 
could  almosht  hear  her  shpeak  w'en  you  are  talk 
ing.  It's  awful  strange.  (Reminiscently)  Yah,  your 
modder  used  to  sit  here  at  de  table,  alvays  sewing — 
jusht  like  you  sit  now — while  I  was  working — 
(Looking  around)  I  hat  a  liddle  shop  like  dis.  Und 
Uncle  Stasi  used  to  come  fer  coffee.  You  remem 
ber  yet,  Hertha? 

HERTHA.  Yes,  on  Lincoln  Street. 

WILLY.    (Half -laughing,  half -sighing)    Yah,  dat 

was  tirdy  years  ago!    I  don't  know It  makes 

me  heppy-like  und  sad  togedder.  (Pause.  Earn 
estly)  It's  such  a  comfort  to  have  you  here  alone 

— jusht  sitting  here — mit  me (He  sinks  back 

into  his  chair  and  closes  his  eyes.  HERTHA  puts  down 
her  sewing,  comes  to  his  chair  and  kneels  down  at 
the  side  of  it.  WILLY  suddenly  puts  his  arm  around 
her)  So !  (Pause.) 

HERTHA.  Papa,  after  today,  I  shan't  be  able  to 
come  here  so  regularly. 

WILLY.  (Like  a  hurt  child)  Wh — wh — why,  you 
— w'at's — w'at's  de  matter? 

HERTHA.    Richard  is  coming  home. 

WILLY.  (Releasing  her)  Yah,  so.  (He  turns 
away.) 


ii4  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  in 

HERTHA.  I  could  be  with  you  always  if  you'd 
only  make  peace  with  him. 

WILLY.  I  made  a  terrible  mishtake  five  years  ago. 
(Grimly)  I  pay  fer  it.  Schon  gut.  Richard  makes 
a  terrible  schwear  on  his  dead  father, — he  musht  see 
me  on  de  knees  before  I  git  you  back 

HERTHA.   I'm  sure  that  he  regrets  it. 

WILLY.  Yah,  we  all  musht  pay.  Don'd  dink  7 
don'd  regret  it.  (Change  to  obstinacy)  Beshides, 
Richard  could  schwear  on  anybody  elset,  I  wouldn't 
care  so  much;  but  his  fader  was  my  frient. 

HERTHA.  Papa,  I've  been  on  my  knees  to  both 
of  you  for  years.  Richard  with  his  terrible  vow  and 
you  with  your  terrible  pride.  Deep  in  your  hearts 
you  both  regret  what  you  have  done.  It's  all  so 
foolish !  (Rises.) 

WILLY.  (Obstinately)  Yah,  shure  he's  foolish! 
But  w'en  your  fader  says  a  ding:  he  alvays  keeps 
his  word.  (He  rises  and  crosses  to  c.) 

HERTHA.  If  I  had  kept  my  word  or  Mr.  Hutton 
his,  or  Uncle  Stasi  his,  or  Rosie  hers,  where  would 
we  be  today  ?  Papa,  don't  you  see  we've  got  to  grow 
beyond  ourselves? 

WILLY.   It's  different  mit  me  und  Richard. 

HERTHA.  If  Richard  had  kept  his  word,  I  couldn't 
have  come  back  to  you  at  all.  (Pause)  Are  we  to 
go  on  like  this  forever? 

WILLY.  (With  finality)  I  wouldn't  reshpect  Rich 
ard  if  he  broke  dot  schwear.  I  wouldn't  reshpect 
myself  if  I  gave  in  to  him!  So  long  as  I  kin  work 
mit  my  two  hants,  I  don'd  git  on  de  knees.  I  got 
jusht  as  much  prout  as  Richard.  (HERTHA  turns 
away.  He  notices  her  disappointment  and  continues 
with  a  change)  I'm  awful  sorry,  Hertha.  I  can't 
change.  (Then  he  goes  up  to  her)  Och  Gott,  Her 
tha!  Dese  two  weeks  I  been  so  heppy — I  forgot  I 
hat  to  lose  you  again.  All  dis  time,  whenever  I  saw 
you  workin*  round  de  room,  I  should  have  said  to 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  115 

myself :  "She's  only  here  a  liddle  while.  Soon  she 
goes  avay  again."  But  Hertha,  Hertha,  I  was  so 
thirsty  for  you — I  t'ought  only:  "Now  I  drink!" 

Und  now (He  breaks  as  he  turns  away)  But 

it's  all  right !  You  mustn't  dink  now  on  your  fader. 
You  got  dose — dose  boys.  Und  I — I  git  along. 
(Moves  L.) 

HERTHA.  Papa.  Richard  went  out  West  two  weeks 
ago. 

WILLY.    (Turning)    For  what? 

HERTHA.    He  went  to  see  Theodore. 

WILLY.   Richard  went  to  my  Theodore? 

HERTHA.  Yes — and  what's  more,  he's  sending 
Theodore  back  to  you. 

WILLY.    My  Theodore  comes  back  to  me  ? 

HERTHA.    Richard  is  sending  him. 

WILLY.  (Proudly)  He  don'd  fergit  his  fader! 
Hertha,  Hertha,  my  boy  comes  back  to  me  ?  W'en  he 
conies  ? 

HERTHA.   Tonight. 

WILLY.   Tonighd  yet? 

HERTHA.    Yes !   With  his  partner  in  the  tannery. 

WILY.  His  partner  too!  Ah,  dat's  de  happiest 
Christmas  I  could  have.  I  dress  myself.  (Starts  to 
undo  his  apron  and  qo  toward  bedroom.) 

HERTHA.    (Stopping  him)   I  wouldn't,  Papa. 

WILLY.  I  don'd  want  he  should  be  ashamed  fer 
his  fader  before  his  partner.  . 

HERTHA.  His  partner  was  a  workman  too.  You 
needn't  be  ashamed.  Besides,  you  won't  have  time. 

WILLY.  You  mean  dey  come  here  right  avay — 
right  von  de  train? 

HERTHA.  Yes,  on  the  six-ten  from  Boston. 
( WILLY  goes  to  the  clock  on  the  wall  R.  ROSIE  en 
ters  L.C.  Nervously  as  he  crosses  to  clock)  Maybe 
dey  don'd  ketch  de  train !  (He  hears  the  door  close 
behind  ROSIE.  He  turns  excitedly  and  asks)  Who's 
dot? 


ii6  OUR  CHILDREN  ACT  HI 

HERTHA.  It's  Rosie. 

WILLY.   Rosie — Rosie — you  heard  de  news? 

ROSIE.  Yes,  Theodore  telephoned  from  Boston. 
They  caught  their  train.  I  hurried  down  to  tell  you. 

WILLY.  Rosie — w'at  shall  we  do?  Dot  fifdeen 
minutes — I  can'd  shtand  it !  (Suddenly)  We  go  und 
meet  'em,  hah  ?  So  dat  dey  don'd  get  losht ! 

ROSIE.    (Stopping  him)    Uncle  Stasi's  there. 

WILLY.  Den,  Hertha,  we  fix  up  de  room!  Hah! 
(Starts  to  gather  dishes  on  table.) 

HERTHA.  Yes,  Papa.  (She  goes  L.C.  and  pulls  up 
the  blind  on  the  door.) 

WILLY.    (Excitedly)    Somebody  comes  now? 

HERTHA.  Not  yet,  Papa.  I'll  just  pull  up  the 
blind,  so  they  can  see  we  are  waiting  for  them. 

WILLY.  Come,  de  dishes — de  dishes — we  fix  up 
everyding  fine  fer  Theodore. 

HERTHA.  Papa,  I'll  'tend  to  them.  You  sit  over 
there.  (Pointing  to  bench.) 

WILLY.  Yah — I  sit — I  sit!  (He  goes  up  to  door 
L.C.  and  looks  out.  Then  he  says  with  great  emotion) 
To  dink  dat  in  a  liddle  while  my  Theodore  comes 
t'rou'  dis  door ! 

ROSIE.  (Closing  door)  It's  awfully  cold,  Uncle 
Willy.  (She  takes  him  down.  He  follows  like  a 
child.)  Sit  here  and  I'll  sit  with  you. 

WILLY.  (Going  to  bench)  Yah,  Rosie,  you  sit 
by  me.  (He  sits  at  bench.) 

ROSIE.  Yes,  Uncle  Willy.  ( ROSIE  takes  a  low 
stool  and  sits  by  him  at  his  L.) 

WILLY.  So.  (He  suddenly  begins  to  work  with 
hysterical  vehemence,  pounding  at  a  shoe.) 

ROSIE.    Don't  work  any  more  tonight. 

WILLY.  (Hardly  containing  himself)  I  jusht  got 
to  do  someding  or  I  explode!  ! 

ROSIE.   All  right. 

WILLY.    (He  starts  to  work,  then  stops  and  says 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  117 

as  he  looks  at  her  tenderly)    We  wait  togedder. 

Yah,  Rosie,  you  waited  too  a  long  time Hah? 

(HERTHA   gathers  up   the   dishes  from   the   table , 
WILLY  and  ROSIE  are  seated  with  their  backs  to  the 

door.)    You  got  a  happy  Christmas  too Hah, 

Rosie  ?  We  got  such  lots  of  dings  to  talk  about,  we 
can't  begin ! 
ROSIE.   Yes. 

( WILLY  works.  HERTHA  sits  at  L.  of  table,  sewing. 
Then  suddenly  WILLY  begins  to  sing  his  old 
song.  His  phrases  are  broken  by  his  emotion. 
HERTHA  has  kept  watching  the  door  L.C.  She 
suddenly  starts  as  she  sees  TPIEODORE  and 
RICHARD  outside.  THEODORE  comes  in  softly, 
followed  by  RICHARD  and  STASI.  They  are  all 
in  long  coats  with  their  collars  rolled  up  high 
because  of  the  cold.  THEODORE  has  grown  a 
mustache.  THEODORE  comes  in  on  tiptoe.  The 
movements  of  all  are  covered  by  WILLY'S  song. 
HERTHA  goes  up  to  them  at  L.C.  ;  embraces 

TllEODOREj 

HERTHA.   (Whispering)  Do  it  quickly ! 

(THEODORE  goes  down  on  a  line  with  WILLY,  who  is 
still  singing  brokenly  and  working.  During  this 
RICHARD  has  gone  to  HERTHA.  She  kisses  him. 
He  has  taken  off^  his  hat.  HERTHA  puts  it  back 
again,  puts  up  his  collar  and  leads  him  to  chair 
L.  of  table.  She  then  stands  between  him  and 
her  father.  STASI  stands  at  door  L.C.  When 
RICHARD  is  seated,  ROSIE  sees  THEODORE  stand 
ing  behind  WILLY,  and  draws  a  sharp  breath. 
WILLY  looks  at  ROSIE  and  sees  her  looking  at 
something  behind  him.  He  is  about  to  turn 
when  THEODORE  says  very  simply:) 


n8  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTIII 

THEODORE.  Papa,  I've  come  home.  (WILLY,  over 
come^  drops  his  work.  He  rises  and  starts  to  go 
toward  THEODORE.  His  knees  weaken  and  he  almost 
falls  as  THEODORE  quickly  embraces  him.) 

WILLY.  Theodore !  My  boy — my  boy — Theodore ! 

THEODORE.  Papa! 

WILLY.  (Clinging  to  THEODORE,)  Oh,  I  can't  be 
lieve  on  it.  Gott  is  yet  goot  to  me.  After  all  de  mish- 
takes  I  make  mit  you,  he  sents  you  to  your  fader  on 
de  Christmas.  (Turning  away)  Yah,  my  boy,  you 
went  t'rou'  hart  times  too — hah?  Yah — it  was  long 
to  wait.  (In  the  midst  of  his  emotion  he  fondles 
THEODORE^S  face,  feels  the  mustache  and  recoils  in 
amazement)  W'at!  You  raised  whiskers!  !  (Tak 
ing  him  under  lamp  over  workbench)  Come  let  me, 
look  at  you !  Rosie !  Look !  'Swonderful ! 

THEODORE.  Now,  Dad,  I  want  you  to  shake  hands 
with  my  partner  from  Montana. 

WILLY.  Yah,  shure !  (RICHARD  rises.  WILLY 
goes  toivard  RICHARD,  while  blowing  his  nose  on  his 
apron)  Excuse  me,  I  ketched  a  awful  cold.  (  WILLY 
is  about  to  extend  his  hand  to  RICHARD.  He  sud 
denly  looks  at  him  and  recoils,  exclaiming)  So, 
Richard! 

RICHARD.  (Extending  his  hand)  How  do  you  do? 

WILLY.  (Refusing  his  hand)  Was  neffer  better 
in  my  life!  (He  turns  to  THEODORE,)  Why,  Theo 
dore,  I  t'ought  he  was 

THEODORE.  Richard  is  my  partner! 

WILLY.  W'at! 

THEODORE.  Yes,  Papa.  Richard's  factory  takes 
our  tannery.  He  sent  the  twelve  thousand  dollars 
to  close  up  the  case.  He's  brought  me  home  to  you. 
So,  Dad,  I  think  it's  up  to  you  to 

WILLY.  (With  his  old  peremptory  manner) 
'Snough !  Your  Papa  knows  yet  w'at  to  do.  (He 
turns  with  a  slow  menace  but  full  resolve  and  goes- 
over  toward  RICHARD,  suspensively  pushing  back  his 


ACT  in  OUR  CHILDREN  119 

sleeves  as  if  he  were  going  to  kick  RICHARD  out 
again.  He  gets  near  him,  then  suddenly  makes  a 
movement  as  if  to  get  down  on  his  knees  in  front 
of  him.) 

RICHARD.  (Not  permitting  it)  Don't — don't,  Mr. 
Engel ! 

WILLY.  (Throunng  RICHARD  off  violently)  Leaf 
me  alone!  (Then  with  the  manner  of  a  thorough 
bred  taking  his  medicine  he  continues)  I  make  a 
failure  mit  my  boy.  You  make  him  a  grand  success. 
Und  if  I  hat  a  million  knees,  I'd  git  down  on  effery 
one  of  dem !  (He  makes  another  movement  to  kneel 
to  RICHARD,  who  again  closes  in  on  him.) 

RICHARD.  (Embarrassed,  but  firm)  But  I  won't 
have  it!  D'ye  hear? 

WILLY.  (Amazed)  You  mean  you  break  your 
schwearf 

RICHARD.   Yes! 

WILLY.  (With  violent  obstinacy)  Den  I  don'd  let 
you  break  dot  schwear!  I  lick  or  git  licked!  (He 
starts  to  kneel  again.  RICHARD  again  lifts  him  up.) 

RICHARD.  (Equally  determined)  Then  you  get 
licked  now!  (Pause.  RICHARD  extends  his  hand) 
Come,  shake  hands.  (Pause.  WILLY  still  refuses. 
Then  RICHARD  says  simply)  Papa! 

WILLY.  (Softened)  Papa?  (WILLY  pauses, 
turns,  then  takes  RICHARD'S  hand  with  a  bang.) 

HERTHA,    (Joyfully)    It's  all  over  now,  isn't  it? 

WILLY.  So,  Hertha,  you  make  foolishness  mit 
your  Papa?  (WARN  Curtain.) 

HERTHA.  I  was  the  cause  of  all  of  it.  I  had  to 
find  the  remedy. 

WILLY.  (Turning  to  RICHARDJ  Von  de  bottom 
of  my  heart  I  dank  you.  For  my  sake (Turn 
ing  to  THEODORE,)  Und  for  his  sake (Then 

very  tenderly)  Und  for  Rosie's  sake. 

RICHARD.     (Indicating   the  handshake)    This  is 


120  OUR  CHILDREN  ACTIII 

what  Hertha  wanted  for  her  Christmas.  The  other 
half  of  our  investment  came  from  Mr.  Scheible. 

WILLY.  Wat,  Stasi? 

STASI.  Och,  what's  de  use  we  talk  about  it  ?  Rosiq 
gets  it  anyway  in  time.  (Then  with  a  relapse  into 
his  old  pugnacious  manner)  Und  now  I  take  my  rub 
bers!  (STASI  sits  on  stool  and  begins  to  put  them 
on.) 

WILLY.  (Laughing)  All  right ! 

STASI.  All  right ! 

WILLY.  Und  efter  all,  my  son,  und  Ernsht  Hell- 
man's  son,  dey  come  togedder  in  de  bushiness. 

RICHARD.  Theodore's  a  chip  of  the  old  block. 
He's  made  good! 

WILLY.  (Turning  on  RICHARD,)  You  dink  maybe 
I  didn't  know  dat !  Hah  ?  (Turing  to  ROSIE)  Und 

I  was  not  de  only  one Hah,  Rosie?  You  and 

me,  we  alvays  knowed  my  Theodore  was  all  righd!  ! 

CURTAIN 


"OUR  CHILDREN" 

PROPERTY  PLOT 

ACT  I 

Finger-bowls  (table). 

Coffee-cups  (table). 

Bowl  of  fruit  (table). 

Ashtray  (table). 

Humidor  (sideboard). 

Percolator  ( sideboard) . 

Cigarettes  (Theodore). 

Tray  (Sophy). 

Doilies  (table). 

Furniture  polish  and  rag  (Sophy). 

Hammer,  screw-driver,  toolbox  (Willy). 

Flowers  (sideboard). 

Newspapers  (Stasi). 

Pipes  (sideboard). 

"American  Kennel  Magazine"  (sideboard) 

Tobacco  jar  (Hertha). 

Brass  smoking  outfit  (sideboard). 

Potato  (tobacco  jar). 

Sewing  (Hertha). 

Matches  (smoking  set). 

Motor  horn  (off  L.). 

Cocktail  shaker  (Hertha). 

Bottles  and  glasses  (sideboard). 

Cigars  (humidor). 

Bankbook  (Willy). 

121 


122  PROPERTY   PLOT 

Letter  (Richard). 

Dustpan  and  broom  (Sophy). 

Coffee-cake  (Sophy). 

ACT  II 

Coffee-cup  (table). 

Letters  (Willy). 

Coffee-pot  (Sophy). 

Bill  (Sophy). 

Mail  (desk). 

Pencil  (Theodore). 

Pipes   (sideboard). 

Tobacco  jar  (sideboard). 

Potato  (in  jar). 

Telegram  (Carter). 

Contract  (Carter). 

3  $iooo-dollar  bills  (Harriet). 

Suitcase  (Sophy). 

Card  and  pencil  (Theodore). 

Timetable  (sideboard). 

Paper  and  envelopes  (table). 

Paper  money  (Richard). 

$100  bill  (Carter). 

Letter  (Rosie). 

3  $1000  bills  (in  letter). 

ACT   III 

Boots  and  shoes  (window). 

Bucket. 

Shoemaker's  tools   (bench). 

Coal-scuttle — coal. 

Shoemaker's  apron. 

Shoes. 

Leather. 

Tobacco  jar. 

Potato. 


PROPERTY  PLOT  123 


Account  books. 

Newspaper. 

Bills. 

Holly  wreaths. 

Flowers. 

Basket. 

Kettle. 

Bill  file. 

Paper  money  (Hutton). 

Pasteboard  box  (Willy). 

Letter  (Willy). 

Wallet  (Willy). 

Paper  money  (Willy). 

Coffee-pot. 

Cigars  (Stasi). 

Pipe. 

Bottle  of  cream  (Hertha). 

Coffee  service  (cupboard). 

2  Jumping  jacks  (in  box). 


"OUR  CHILDREN" 

PUBLICITY  THROUGH  YOUR  LOCAL 
PAPERS 

The  press  can  be  an  immense  help  in  giving  pub 
licity  to  your  productions.  In  the  belief  that  the  best 
reviews  from  the  New  York  and  other  large  papers 
are  always  interesting  to  local  audiences,  and  in  order 
to  assist  you,  we  are  printing  below  several  excerpts 
from  those  reviews. 

To  these  we  have  also  added  a  number  of  sug 
gested  press  notes  which  may  be  used  either  as  they 
stand  or  changed  to  suit  your  own  ideas  and  sub 
mitted  to  the  local  press. 

A  PLAY  WITH  A  REMARKABLE  HISTORY 

The  play  "OuR  CHILDREN"  has  been  importantly 
produced  on  five  different  occasions. 

HENRY  KOLKER  played  the  leading  role  in  Los 
Angeles  when  the  play  was  first  produced  under 
the  title  of  "His  SON." 

HENRY  KOLKER  then  played  the  leading  part  for  a 
season  in  Chicago,  and  on  tour  under  the  title  of 
"OuR  CHILDREN." 

EMMETT  CORRIGAN  played  the  leading  part  in 
New  York.  The  play  was  then  also  produced  under 
the  title  of  "OuR  CHILDREN." 

Louis  CALVERT,  England's  greatest  character- 
actor,  then  took  the  play  abroad  and  appeared  in 
124 


PRESS   MATTER  125 

the  leading  role  in  London  and  the  Provinces  under 
the  title  of  "DADDALUMS." 

The  play  then  returned  to  America,  and  RICHARD 
BENNETT  assumed  the  leading  part.  The  play  was 
then  re-christened  "THE  NEW  HOUSE/' 

"  'His  Son'  is  one  of  the  greatest  dramas  even 
given  a  first  production  here.  It  adds  to  the  'Music 
Master'  double  the  intensity  and  a  hundred  times 
the  virility  of  the  Warfield  success." — "The  Graph 
ic"  Los  Angeles. 

"A  play  perfect  in  text  and  interpretation.  All 
the  elements  of  success.  Its  story  is  absorbing,  clev 
erly  connected,  and  nowhere  improbable.  It  is  mod 
ern  and  touches  life  at  all  its  cardinal  points  with  the 
sharp,  definite  contact  >  that  leaves  an  indelible  im 
pression  on  the  mind.  Its  characters  are  vital  and 
pulsate  with  vigorous  life.  Tears  and  laughter  min 
gle  happily.  And  as  it  unfolds  the  hearer  grows  in 
sympathy  until  the  atmosphere  of  the  play  seizes 
him."- — Los  Angeles  "Evening  Herald" 

"Keen  and  profound  analysis.  Consistency  of 
theme  and  constructive  skill  are  shown  in  a  play  that 
radiates  serene  beauty." — Otheman  Stevens,  "Los 
Angeles  Examiner" 

"  'His  Son'  wins  hearts.  Play  is  sweet  as  a  moun 
tain  violet.  'His  Son'  stamped  itself  on  the  minds 
and  hearts  of  a  large  audience  with  unmistakeable 
force.  It  abounds  with  the  sparkle  of  clean  and 
spontaneous  humor,  is  the  story  of  real  people,  has 
the  fire  of  clashing  wills,  an  abundance  of  tender 
sentiment  of  the  true  ring,  and  a  depth  and  sound 
ness  of  characterization." — "Los  Angeles  Tribune" 

"Two  acts  so  big  they  hurt — acts  wondrously 
written ;  two  great  soaring  flights  right  to  the  skies. 
Two  of  the  finest  acts  I  ever  witnessed  in  a  drama." 
— "Los  Angeles  Daily  Times" 


126  PRESS   MATTER 

"Its  story  is  absorbing — its  characters  are  vital." 
— "Los  Angeles  Herald." 

"  'Our  Children'  is  staged  with  happy  results.  The 
first  genuine  dramatic  premiere  of  the  season.  It 
fills  one  with  the  satisfaction  of  having  spent  a  good 
evening  in  the  theatre." — Charles  Collins,  "Chicago 
Evening  Post." 

"Mr.  Kolker  appears  in  an  appealing  drama.  Both 
the  play  and  playing  were  pronounced  unequivocally 
successful." — "Chicago  Tribune." 

"Last  night's  visitors  at  the  Princess  laughed  over 
'Our  Children'  and  wept  over  it.  The  play  is  simple, 
direct  and  colloquial,  picturing  a  story  that  is  en 
tirely  human  and  understandable." — "Chicago  Her 
ald." 

"  'Our  Children'  scores  a  hit  at  the  opening. 
Every  father,  mother,  son  and  daughter  will  like 
'Our  Children.'  That  includes  us  all.  The  reason? 
Because  part  of  the  best  of  most  any  man  or  woman 
is  reproduced  right  before  your  eyes." — "Chicago 
Evening  American" 

"Doctor  Anspacher  writes  'Our  Children,'  a  most 
beautiful  comedy.  It  is  plays  of  the  caliber  of  'Our 
Children'  which  gives  sinews  to  the  stage." — "Chi 
cago  Daily  News." 

"  'Our  Children'  has  in  it  everything  that  makes 
for  prosperity  in  the  theatre.  One  of  those  plays 
the  public  laughs  at  and  cries  with,  and  from  which 
it  gets  more  than  its  money's  worth." — "Chicago 
Daily  Journal." 

"  'Our  Children'  has  the  very  breath  of  life— hits 
the  realistic  note  hard.  It  is  real  life,  presented  nat 
urally.  It's  as  refreshing  as  spring  water  found  in 
the  woods,  with  no  straining  after  theatrical  effects. 
The  character-drawing  is  exquisitely  done." — "New 
York  Evening  Sun." 

"  'Our  Children'  has  many  of  the  qualities  which 
are  rare  enough  today  and  are  certain  to  appeal  to 


PRESS   MATTER  127 

the  public.  It  has  sentiment,  humour  and  dramatic 
suspense." — "The  Sun"  New  York  City. 

"  'Our  Children'  has  a  strong  appeal  and  seems 
certain  to  interest  thousands  of  theatre-goers.  An 
epitome  of  the  story  would  give  an  inadequate  idea 
of  the  charm  of  the  play.  Human  touches  that  bring 
tears,  many  moments  of  comedy." — "Journal  of 
Commerce,"  New  York  City. 

"  'Our  Children'  is  a  gripping  play  of  modern 
home  life.  Dr.  Anspacher's  drama  makes  tremend 
ous  appeal.  A  first  night  audience  was  held  en 
thralled.  It  is  distinctly  a  play  for  the  great  theatre- 
going  public,  with  the  popular  appeal  which  insures 
its  success — a  triumph  for  all  concerned." — "The 
New  York  Review" 

"  'Our  Children"  is  a  human  play  humanly  acted. 
In  this  age  of  stage  novelties  it  is  gratifying  to  find 
so  simple  and  honest  a  play  which  made  a  direct 
appeal  to  the  heart." — "Evening  World,"  New  York 
City. 

"Sincerity  is  the  keynote  of  'Our  Children,'  a  truly 
human  story  of  the  pangs  of  parenthood — honest 
all  through.  "—"The  Press"  New  York  City. 

"Dr.  Anspacher's  story  is  a  simple  one  and  yet 
contains  a  novelty  in  its  basic  idea.  Mother-love  is 
in  the  top  right  hand  drawer  of  every  dramatist. 
The  author  of  'Our  Children'  has  fished  deeper  and 
brought  forth  father-love.  Well-drawn  characters 
and  honesty  of  purpose.  A  long  run,  unless  we  are 
much  mistaken. — Hey  wood  Broun. 

"I  was  charmed  with  the  play.  'Our  Children* 
suited  me  to  a  dot,  worthwhile  and  impressive  with 
out  being  frightful." — Rev.  Thomas  B.  Gregory, 
"The  New  York  American" 

"  'Our  Children/  a  play  of  force  and  appeal.  A 
comedy  drama  on  a  domestic  theme  makes  strong 
impression.  Its  observation  of  life  and  character  is 
close  and  accurate.  Its  types  are  recognizable  and 


128  PRESS   MATTER 

human,  and  the  language  they  speak  is  effective  and 
natural.  These  merits  should  bring  the  play  the  pop 
ularity  which  it  deserves.  The  story  is  full  of  human 
elements  and  is  told  with  strong  emotional  interest. 
Very  close  to  nature."— "The  New  York  World.3' 

"  The  New  House,'  extremely  interesting  and 
thoughtful  work." — "Baltimore  American." 

"A  joy  in  its  richness  of  texture  and  genial  por 
trayal  of  personalities." — "Baltimore  Sun." 

"  The  New  House'  is  a  delightful  play  of  real 
people  and  genuine  situations." — "Atlantic  City 
News" 

"A  play,  rich  in  human  qualities,  with  the  humor 
ous  and  pathetic  close  neighbors  at  all  times.  A  re 
markably  good  piece  of  dramatic  work." — "Atlantic 
City  Press" 

!l  'Daddalums'  is  one  of  the  most  human,  natural 
and  appealing  plays  ever  written.  Folks  who  go  to 
see  it  are  conscious  of  the  lump  in  the  throat,  the 
mist  before  the  eyes  and  the  tension  of  excitement 
that  are  the  surest  signs  that  they  are  listening  to 
the  real  thing." — "Society"  Brighton,  England. 

"In  'Daddalums'  we  have  the  whole  conception  of 
the  stage  in  its  larger  and  nobler  aspects  embodied 
in  a  play  that  in  itself  is  a  masterpiece  of  dramatic 
craftsmanship,  and  instruct  with  a  great  moral  les 
son." — Editorial  in  "The  Gazette,"  Derby,  England. 

"Simple  in  construction,  sincere  in  feeling,  strong 
in  its  character-drawing,  'Daddalums'  gets  down  to 
the  human  heart  of  things." — "Herald"  Brighton, 
England. 

'  'Daddalums'  is  a  delightful,  homely  study  of 

real  human  beings  in  everyday  relationships.    It  is 

gratifying  to  find  so  simple  and  honest  a  play." — 

"The  Repertory  Theatre"  Plymouth,  England. 

"  'Daddalums'    won    instant    popular    success    at 


PRESS    MATTER  129 

Wyndam's  Theatre  last  night."— "Pall  Mall  Gazette," 
London,  England. 

"Cheers  of  enthusiastic  approval  and  every  pros 
pect  of  the  j oiliest  success.  Refreshing  as  the  old 
fireside." — "The  Referee,"  London,  England. 

"  'Daddalums'  is  a  good  strong  comedy  drama  of 
father  and  son,  and  achieved  a  well-deserved  suc 
cess." — "London  Daily  Chronicle." 

"Mr.  Louis  Calvert's  success  last  night  was  in 
disputable,  unchallenged.  A  play  that  affords  such 
opportunities  must  have  the  root  of  the  matter  in  it. 
The  final  reception  could  not  have  been  more  cor 
dial."—  "London  Times." 

"A  popular  triumph.  Very  rarely  during  recent 

years  has  finer  applause  been  heard  in  a  theatre " 

— "Liverpool  Courier." 

"  'Daddalums'  is  being  heralded  as  one  of  the 
really  great  dramatic  successes  of  the  year." — Cable 
to  "Variety." 

SYNOPSIS 

The  theme  is  one  of  simple  son-worship  with  the 
contrasting  condition  of  a  neglected  elder  sister,  who 
is  turned  out  of  the  house  because  she  loves  the 
young  foreman  of  her  father's  factory,  who  repays 
the  old  man's  hardness  to  him  in  adversity  with  the 
redemption  of  his  idolized  son  and  a  comfortable 
home. 

A  GREAT  CRITIC  WROTE : 

"A  play  that  is  more  than  a  play.  I  have  seen  a 
play.  One  sees  only  a  few  plays  in  a  lifetime.  Most 
plays  you  just  endure.  I  went  to  the  Princess  Thea 
tre  the  other  night  just  because  a  dear  friend  insisted 
that  I  should.  The  play  was  'Our  Children/  written 


I30  PRESS   MATTER 

by  Louis  K.  Anspacher.  I  went  with  the  intention 
of  sitting  out  one  act.  But  I  remained  until  the  cur 
tain  fell  on  the  last  scene,  and  then  I  sat  there  and 
forgot  to  applaud,  and  forgot  to  go  home  until  a 
courteous  usher  touched  my  shoulder  and  said,  'Ex 
cuse  me,  but  the  play  is  over.' 

"  'Our  Children'  was  advertised  as  a  'new  play/ 
It  is  not  only  that,  but  it  is  a  new  kind  of  a  play. 
It  is  a  play  for  young  folks,  no  matter  how  long  they 
have  lived.  It  is  a  play  for  parents.  It  is  a  play  for 
lovers. 

"The  lesson  is,  that  lavish  love  which  gives  freev 
dom  from  work  tends  to  enslave  just  as  much  as 
does  the  affection  which  eternally  hedges  and  pro 
tects.  But  that  isn't  all — the  feminist  will  see  her 
argument  here  presented ;  so  will  the  student  of 
economics.  But,  most  of  all,  parents  will  think  the 
play  is  written  just  for  them. 

"This  play  is  presented  without  preachment,  rant, 
fuss  or  friction.  The  movement  is  simple,  the  lan 
guage  natural,  the  whole  plot  gently  unfolding,  but 
holding  the  auditor  so  he  forgets  time  and  place. 
It  is  a  far-reaching  cross-section  of  life,  told  with 
consummate  restraint  and  subtle  skill.  Its  lessons 
of  work,  study,  play,  love  and  simple,  natural  living 
are  unmistakable. 

"  'Our  Children !' — Yes,  and  your  children — and 
we  ourselves  are  the  children  sent  into  life  without 
our  permission,  and  being  sent  out  of  it  against  our 
will.  And  so  we  look  and  listen  and  laugh,  and  cry 
a  bit  and  think,  and  then  we  resolve  that  hereafter 
work  and  love  shall  guide  our  lives,  not  pride  and 
prejudice. 

"Go  and  see  'Our  Children'  and  take  your  children 
with  you,  and  you  will  all  enjoy  one  of  the  most 
artistic  and  exquisite  plays  ever  presented  on  the 
American  stage." 


PRESS   MATTER  131 

Gertrude  Atherton's  Letter  to  Dr.  Ans packer 
About  "Our  Children" 

Dear  Mr.  Anspacher: 

The  notices  have  been  splendid.  One  could  not 
be  sure  how  the  blase  critic  would  take  it.  Apparently 
it  hit  him  in  the  right  spot,  as  it  should  have  done. 
It  is  an  enchanting  play.  In  spite  of  its  fine  realism, 
it  has  a  sort  of  old  Germany,  Grimm's  Fairy  Tales, 
and  Hans  Christian  Anderson  atmosphere.  /  have 
never  seen  a  play  in  which  there  were  so  many  lov 
able  characters. 

May  its  shadow  not  contract  for  many  seasons. 
(Signed)  Gertrude  Atherton. 


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REBOUND 

Comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Donald  Ogden  Stewart.  Produced 
originally  by  Arthur  Hopkins  at  the  Plymouth  Theatre, 
New  York.  7  males,  5  females.  Modern  costumes. 

Sara  Jaffrey  is  twenty-eight,  pretty,  charming  but  unmarried — when 
we  first  meet  her  in  the  home  of  her  sister,  Mrs.  Crawford.  Bill  Trues- 
dale  is  much  in  love  with  Evie  Lawrence,  but  she  throws  him  over  for 
the  rich  Lyman  Patterson.  Sara  and  Bill  immediately  become  engaged 
and  are  married  shortly  after. 

We  next  find  them  on  their  honeymoon  in  Paris,  where  Bill  is  be 
ginning  to  show  early  symptoms  of  being  a  neglectful  husband — even 
failing  to  show  up  to  meet  Sara's  father.  It  appears  that  Evie  and 
Lyman  have  turned  up  in  Paris  on  their  wedding  tour  and  Bill  has 
been  spending  the  truant  time  with  his  old  love.  This  devotion  to  Evie 
grows  into  alarming  proportions  despite  Sara's  pleading  with  Bill  until 
she  realizes  love  is  not  a  thing  to  be  begged  for  but  a  thing  to  com 
mand.  She  switches  her  methods  and  Bill  rebounds  back  to  her  arms 
with  every  indication  of  being  a  devoted  husband. 

"The  best  light  comedy  written  by  anybody  hereabouts  in  ten  or 
twenty  years."  Heywood  Broun,  N.  Y.  Telegram. 

(Royalty,  fifty  dollars.)  PRICE  7$  CENTS. 


THE  ROYAL  FAMILY 

Comedy  hi  3  acts.  By  George  S.  Kaufman  and  Edna 
Ferber.  Produced  originally  by  Jed  Harris  at  the  Selwyn 
Theatre,  New  York,  n  males,  6  females,  i  interior. 
Modern  costumes. 

A  tremendously  interesting  and  fascinating  story  of  a  great  family 
of  the  American  stage.  The  Cavendishes,  with  which  "The  Royal 
Family"  concerns  itself,  comprises  three  generations.  First,  there  is 
Fanny  Cavendish,  wife  of  the  deceased  Aubrey  Cavendish,  "the  first 
actor  of  his  day,"  who  at  seventy  is  planning  her  tour  for  the  coming 
season.  There  is  her  brother,  Herbert  Dean,  a  pompous  player  now  in 
his  decline;  Julie,  her  daughter,  is  at  the  crest  of  her  career  as  a 
Broadway  star,  Tony,  her  son,  having  forsaken  the  stage  for  Holly 
wood,  rushes  home  only  to  flee  to  Europe  to  escape  the  attention  of  a 
Polish  picture  actress.  Soon  he  is  back  again  in  New  York  seeking 
refuge  from  a  lovesick  Balkan  princess.  A  granddaughter,  Gwen,  just 
building  into  important  ingenue  roles,  jolts  the  family  by  marrying  a 
non-professional  and  forsaking  the  stage,  but  only  temporarily. 
Through  it  all,  Fanny  Cavendish  rules  the  household  with  her  courage 
and  a  sharp  tongue.  Though  her  children  are  idols  to  the  public,  they 
are  defenseless  under  the  withering  fire  of  the  old  lady's  sarcasm. 

(Royalty  on  application.)  PRICE  75  CENTS. 


BERKELEY  SQUARE 

Play  in  3  acts.  By  John  L.  Balderston.  Produced  origi 
nally  by  Gilbert  Miller  and  Leslie  Howard  at  the  Lyceum 
Theatre,  New  York.  7  males,  8  females,  i  interior.  Modern 
and  Eighteenth  century  costumes.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

Peter  Standish,  a  young  American  architect,  has  inherited,  so  it 
seems,  an  old  English  house  in  which  one  of  his  ancestors  had  played 
an  important  role.  Taking  up  his  residence  there,  he  discovers  that  he 
can  walk  back  and  forth  through  time,  that  he  can  step  into  the  shoes 
of  his  ancestor  and  live  the  life  that  man  lived  in  the  Eighteenth  cen 
tury.  He  accepts  the  challenge  of  the  adventure  and  finds  himself  en 
tering  the  old  drawing-room  dressed  in  the  costume  of  the  time  but 
still  essentially  himself,  and  he  plays  the  game  as  well  as  he  can.  Much 
charms,  but  much  also  shocks  him.  His  knowledge  of  the  future  some 
times  trips  him  up,  but  the  platitudes  of  the  Nineteenth  and  the 
Twentieth  centuries  are  brilliant  epigrams  to  those  about  him.  But 
despite  his  success  he  is  not  really  at  home. 

"Berkeley  Square"  is  the  finest  play  of  the  season — a  play  that  casts 
a  spell."  J.  Brooks  Atkinson,  New  York  Times. 

"Unusual  in  flavor  and  right  in  entertainment — deserves  the  atten 
tion  of  every  playgoer  who  wants  to  buy  an  evening  of  complete  be- 
guilement."  John  Anderson,  N.  Y.  Evening  Journal. 

(Royalty  will  be  quoted  on  application  for  cities  and  towns  where 
it  may  be  presented  by  amateurs.)  PRICE  75  CENTS. 

HOLIDAY 

Comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Philip  Barry.  Produced  originally 
by  Arthur  Hopkins  at  the  Plymouth  Theatre,  New  York. 
7  males,  j  females.  2  interiors.  Modern  costumes.  Plays  a 
full  evening. 

Holiday,  with  Hope  Williams,  was  one  of  the  outstanding  successes 
of  the  New  York  theatre,  and  later  done  in  motion  pictures  with 
Ann  Harding.  It  is  the  story  of  a  young  man  who  is  engaged  to  a 
girl  of  great  wealth  and  social  standing.  But  he  refuses  to  "make  good" 
with  her  father,  preferring  to  enjoy  life  as  a  holiday  and  an  independ 
ent  venture  in  happiness.  Because  of  this  the  two  separate,  but  at  the 
end  the  girl's  sister  realizing  that  the  young  man  is  right  and  her  fam 
ily  wrong,  confesses  that  she  is  in  love  with  him  and  agrees  to  go  away 
and  marry  him.  A  delightful  and  brilliant  comedy. 

"One  could  ask  for  nothing  better  (except  that  it  is  dangerous  to 
laugh  so  hard)  than  a  stageful  of  Philip  Barry  characters  indulging  in 
his  special  brand  of  happy-go-lucky  nonsense." 

Robert  Littell,  N.  Y.  Post. 

"It  is  continuously  gay  and  amusing,  blissfully  mad,  and  stunningly 
sane,  all  at  the  same  time.  .  .  ."  John  Anderson,  N.  Y.  Journal. 

(Royalty,  fifty  dollars.)  PRICE  $2.00  per  copy  (in  cloth). 


HOTEL  UNIVERSE 

Play  without  intermission  by  Philip  Barry.  Produced 
originally  by  the  Theatre  Guild  at  the  Martin  Beck  The 
atre,  New  York.  5  males,  4  females,  i  exterior  scene.  Mod 
ern  costumes. 

One  of  the  most  striking  and  original  plays  ever  written  by  an 
American,  and  on  the  occasion  of  its  production  in  New  York  it 
aroused  heated  controversy.  It  is  the  most  ambitious  and  brilliant  play 
Mr.  Barry  has  ever  attempted,  and  is  concerned  with  the  baffling 
problems  which  every  adult  human  being  is  at  some  time  forced  to 
face.  The  characters  seem  hardly  to  exist  at  all  in  relation  to  other 
people,  which  is  surely  the  reason  why  Mr.  Barry  discovered  (some 
what  as  Chekov  discovered)  that  to  invent  a  plot  for  them  would  be 
to  deprive  them  of  the  kind  of  reality  he  was  after.  These  people  are 
essentially  introspective,  centripetal,  literally  self-seeking.  And  what 
are  they  after?  Just  an  answer  to  the  question  that  every  thinking 
human  being  must  ask  himself — and  vainly:  What  is  life?  What  is 
death?  Where  are  we  going,  and  why?  What  is  the  meaning  of  past, 
present  and  future?  Published  only  in  bound  form. 

"A  glittering  play  of  unreality  and  magic  to  quicken  the  pulses  and 
stir  the  minds  .  .  ."  Richard  Lockridge,  N.  Y.  Sun. 

(Royalty  on  application.)  PRICE  $2.00  per  copy  (in  cloth) . 


THE  FARMER'S  WIFE 

Comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Eden  Phillpotts.  Produced  origi 
nally  by  Charles  Coburn  in  New  York  City.  9  males,  13 
females.  2  interiors.  Modern  costumes. 

This  delightful  comedy  of  English  people  was  one  of  the  long  run 
successes  in  London  before  coming  to  New  York.  The  story  is  concerned 
with  Samuel  Sweetland,  a  Devonshire  farmer  and  a  widower,  who  de 
cides  to  marry  again.  Aided  and  abetted  by  his  housekeeper,  Araminta, 
he  makes  out  a  list  of  the  various  eligible  women  in  the  county  and  pro 
poses  to  them  in  turn.  But  they  all  refuse  him,  and  in  the  end  he  finds 
at  home,  in  Araminta,  the  one  woman. 

(Royalty  on  application.).  P|UCE  75  CENTS. 


